The Bad Slytherin
by MiniCook
Summary: They say Slytherin is the House of Liars. But they're wrong. People in other Houses lie. Everybody lies... Slytherins just don't get caught. And one humble Slytherin girl is about to put that to the ultimate test.
1. Chapter 1

**Just a general note before I begin, if you have any suggestions or comments on what you read, do please leave them. It does an author good to hear people's opinions on their work.**

Disclaimer: Own only anything you don't recognise.

_The Bad Slytherin_

They say Slytherin is the House of Liars. But they're wrong. People in other Houses lie. Everybody lies... Slytherins just don't get caught.

Welcome to the world of the Bad Slytherin.

Chapter 1

_The Rise of a Mildly Problematic Dark Lord_

Draco Malfoy said nothing when Lyra White was sorted into Slytherin the year after he was. Not that she cared, of course, however she was mildly curious as to whether or not the blonde boy even knew who she was. Perhaps, she thought, he had never heard of her. Or, better yet, he _had_ heard of her and was pointedly ignoring her. Not that either scenario made much of a difference in her life – it was just an interesting notion that circled her head for the first few minutes she saw him, but was quickly discarded. That was, until her third year.

"Miss White, why am I _not _surprised to see you here in my office for the _third_ time this week?"

Lyra simply wore her customary look of mild amusement as her Head of House addressed her.

"To be fair, Sir, I myself _am_ surprised. I would have thought a transgression as infinitesimal as the one I have made would not be _nearly_ terrible enough to grant me an audience with a person of such calibre."

Snape's lip curled at the casual way she addressed him – as it always did. Lyra widened her eyes in mock innocence.

"Oh, I'm quite sorry – was this one of those many occasions where I seem to miss that the question was in fact rhetorical?"

Snape seemed to struggle with the urge to roll his eyes.

"You made a sixth year girl burst into tears this morning at breakfast – and this hasn't been the first incident in which you appear to be using mental warfare to inflict pain upon others."

Lyra cast him a falsely hopeful look. "But since she was a Hufflepuff, you'll let it slide just this once, right?"

Snape was less than impressed by her attempts at humour, but Lyra was far too accustomed to his cold indifference for it to actually have any effect upon her.

"Miss White, regardless as to what I believe on the matter, your behaviour is attracting much of the wrong kind of attention."

"Surely, Sir, being the attention-seeker that I am, no kind of attention is the wrong kind."

Snape's eyes narrowed to slivers at her words, and he leaned forward over his desk, invading her personal space. When he spoke, Lyra almost found she could take him seriously. Almost.

"You seem to be forgetting the times we live in, Miss White. The Headmaster will not tolerate what you seem to be taking as a form of personal entertainment."

Ah. And there it was. The crux of the situation.

Dumbledore.

Lyra took it for what it was, and with a deep bow, she conceded to what Snape was trying to tell her.

"Never fear, Professor," she said, addressing her toes. "I won't be caught in the act again."

And with that, she departed his office, back still bowed, head still down.

As she left, Snape held up his hand as though to halt her, but with a sigh he let his arm fall uselessly by his side. The girl truly was a lost cause.

Lyra couldn't help the smirk spreading across her face as she left Snape's office. For the third time that week she'd managed to escape any form of real punishment. Of course, she wasn't entirely blind to what Snape had warned her about – she knew Dumbledore, and she knew his attitude towards people like her.

Not that it worried her in the slightest. Lyra wasn't one for becoming overly stressed. About anything, really.

As she walked back to the Great Hall, her mind wrapped up in her own amusing thoughts, she failed to notice the group of third-year Gryffindors approaching her from the other end of the hallway.

"And then, just as Flitwick was about to cast that spell, I-"

Lyra noticed the lanky boy mere milliseconds before it was too late, and with a grace that ill-befitted her stature, she ducked out of the way just in time. Of course, she couldn't resist the urge to leave her heel planted firmly where it was, causing the boisterous Gryffindor to trip backwards over it halfway through his undoubtedly riveting story. With a surprised yelp, the third-year landed squarely on his arse.

"Ow! Hey, what the Hell?" the boy said indignantly. His tone turned cold, however, when he saw who the perpetrator was. "Oh. White. It's you."

Lyra turned back to him, eyes wide in fake surprise.

"Goodness, Gerald, what on Earth are you doing on the floor? Are you attempting to start a new trend of bruising your behind, for if you are, I must advise against it; someone's already tried."

The boy – Gerald – shot Lyra a filthy look before one of his friends helped him up.

"Get lost, Slytherin. How 'bout you go off and play with your little friends – oh, hold on, you don't _have_ any, do you?"

Lyra's smile broadened at Gerald's words, much to his chagrin.

"Oh dear, Gerald, that _was_ a low blow. I thought you were above such things. Oh, wait..." Lyra carefully stepped around them, throwing her final comment over her shoulder. "No I didn't."

The day had been going ever so well, Lyra decided as she stepped into the Slytherin common room. She'd had a lovely heart-to-heart with her Head of House, she'd managed to escape futile punishment, she'd taken a Gryffindor down a few pegs... indeed, shaping up to be a fine day. That was, until she managed to colossally screw herself over by tangling with the wrong obnoxious blonde.

Lyra slumped into a cushioned recliner, happy to sit in silence for a moment as all others in her house were outside enjoying the snow. Well, almost all.

Lyra cocked her eye as she felt a shadow fall over her, surprised, despite the fact she didn't show it, to see none other than Goyle towering over her. His face was stoic, and she was unsure as to what he wanted.

"Um, Gregory, hello. How may I help you?" she said evenly.

"You're sitting on my coat, White, that's how you can help him."

Lyra didn't need to look to realise it was Draco Malfoy who spoke. She turned her head to him slowly, exaggerating a look of surprise when he caught her eye. He sneered, and immediately Lyra could tell he was baiting her. So, she decided, she'd come back with the unexpected.

"Draco. Oh, ever so sorry. I can't believe I would do such a thing." She grabbed his coat – which he had slung over the back of the chair – and immediately proffered it to the brawny Goyle.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, seemingly caught off guard and unsure if she was being sincere or sarcastic.

"What, no biting remark, White? Am I so great that you wouldn't _dare_ insult me?"

He posed it as a question, but Lyra saw it for what it really was. She smiled pleasantly.

"Oh no, dearest Draco, perish the thought. I just usually prefer to save my stinging barbs for people who can actually take them. I was more concerned that you might run off to Daddy should I say anything that may hurt your precious feelings." Throughout her little speech, Lyra kept her expression in a mildly amused smile. Draco, however, grew redder with each word.

Without a sound, Draco snatched his coat from Goyle's hands and made to stalk past her. He stopped, however, as a thought seemed to cross his mind. Slowly, he bent down next to her, speaking so low not even his lackeys could hear him.

"Don't forget, White. You may think you've made a nice little place for yourself here at Hogwarts. But I can bring your whole world down just by telling _one_ person who your... lineage, happens to be."

And with that, the blonde straightened and strode away from her to the boy's dormitories. Lyra barely registered his departure, as a single word circulated around in her mind.

Damn.

Throughout the next week, Lyra made a point of avoiding the blonde ferret. Not for fear of what he might say, but for fear of what her annoyingly honest and maddening mouth might say. Draco Malfoy was by far the most entertaining person to provoke – his pride and ego were so over-inflated he needed an extra trunk just to carry them around – but when a person like that had something to hold over you, it's something to take note of.

Lyra sat alone at the end of the Slytherin table, as she always did during every meal. People didn't tend to enjoy her humour very much; despite the fact she thought she was absolutely hilarious. She didn't mind, however – on the contrary, she found what other people had to say often very dull. So alone she sat, a not-very-interesting book propped up against a pitcher of water as she absently chewed on a piece of toast.

"Support Cedric Diggory!" someone yelled as they walked past her. Ah, of course. The final challenge of the Tri-Wizard Cup was to be held in just two weeks. She'd almost managed to have it slip her mind, but no such luck. Everyone in Hogwarts seemed to be in an insufferably good mood because of it. Lyra, however, had escaped the gripping effects of school spirit.

With a bored sigh she closed the rather un-fascinating book, shoved it in her bag, grabbed a bit of toast to go and headed for the exit. However before she made it through the large double doors two thugs and a snake stepped into her path. She couldn't help but smirk. First mistake.

"White," Draco drawled in his characteristic manner.

Lyra took a purposeful bite of her breakfast and responded around a mouthful of toast. "Draco. Ever so lovely to see you again. However I must insist I am not _nearly_ early enough for Potions this morning, so if you so wish to trade scathing remarks, we shall have to reschedule to a later date. If you'll excuse me..." Lyra waited for Crabbe and Goyle to move aside. They didn't. She sighed. "And people think _I_ can't take a hint..."

"Look, White, I'm not here to have you snivelling like a child at my quick wit and sharp tongue," Draco said, and it took a lot of self control on Lyra's part to stay silent, which she thought was a pretty remarkable effort. Draco continued with a smile. "I'm here to make a truce."

Lyra raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Forgive my scepticism – I'm told I'm rather tactless with these things – but... why?"

Draco's grin widened at her apparent confusion. "I think it is in both our best interests that we retain some form of civility between us. Considering what we do when we're on opposite sides, imagine what we could do as allies."

With that said, Draco held out his right hand. Lyra stared at it for a moment before she turned her scrutiny back to the blonde boy's face.

"Don't be thinking this war is over, Draco," Lyra said with a hint of amusement. Her eyes flashed down to the hand he still held out to her, and with a sure glint in her eye she grasped it with her own. "But I suppose I'd be willing to declare a cease fire – for now." She shook his hand once before letting it go and striding past him, muttering to herself as she left.

"Yeah. A cease fire. Just like Korea..."

After a dull day of classes Lyra could have aced had she found an ounce of motivation, the young Slytherin found herself in the quiet seclusion of the Transfiguration classroom. She liked going there after classes had finished – no one ever bothered her. As per her usual routine, Lyra sat on McGonagall's long wooden desk and reached for the small chain around her neck. With a practiced hand she removed the necklace, letting the small pendant slip from the silver chain into her hand. It was a tiny, meticulously crafted harp. She placed the necklace back around her neck, and with a flick of her wand she silently enlarged the pendant into a full sized hand instrument. Carefully placing her wand on the desk next to her, Lyra picked up the harp and began to strum the strings lightly, first testing that each was in tune before she delved right into the most recent song that had taken her fancy.

Finally, she felt some kind of peace. Music, though not a soul knew, was her one and only outlet, the one and only time she allowed herself to just... do. Not a thought in the world. There was no need for snarky comments or perfectly timed insults. She just played. And, even if it was only for a little while, she was content.

Lyra's quiet retreat was interrupted, however, as after what could have only been three minutes of music she felt someone open the Transfiguration classroom door. She didn't look up at them, her eyes still closed as she played. Usually she would have stopped immediately and told them to nick off, but at that moment all she wanted was to keep playing. And whoever the intruder was, they weren't about to take her solitude away from her.

The person who opened the door, unexpectedly, did not attempt to make themself known. They just stood in the doorway, content to listen, and as Lyra continued to play she found she could almost forget they were there. As the song began to end, she opened her eyes to find none other than the famous Harry Potter leaning, amazed, against the closed door. She looked away from him, a calm, tranquil smile on her lips. She continued to let her fingers glide aimlessly along the harp strings as she broke the silence.

"Potter. Is something the matter?" she kept her voice neutral, disinterested. Potter blinked a few times as though to clear his head before he straightened awkwardly.

"Ah, no, not at all, I just... ah..." he scratched his head and slumped his shoulders. "McGonagall told me this classroom would be free for me to practice in for the last challenge," he finished lamely. Lyra thoughtfully plucked at the strings.

"Ah. I see our dear Professor forgot that she'd given up telling me I couldn't use this classroom after class whenever I wanted. Oh well." Finally, Lyra spared Potter a look. He seemed at a loss for words. Her fingers began to slow their strokes across the strings, eventually coming to a stop. "Last challenge, you say? Sounds important. Better let you get to it."

Lyra picked up her wand, tapped her harp and strung the now tiny instrument back onto her necklace. Without another word, she began to leave.

"Ah, wait, hold on a sec," Harry said quickly. Lyra paused just as she was about to pass him, turning slightly to look at him as she waited for him to continue. He shifted slightly. "Uh, Lyra, right?" She nodded. "I just thought... well you play really well. The harp, I mean. I didn't know you were so good."

Lyra quirked her lips slightly. "No. Nobody does." She made to leave again.

"You know, it's kinda funny. I heard you were really, you know wicked to everyone. I mean, I could be wrong, but you seem nice enough."

Lyra looked down, not really sure if she was pleased or saddened at his words. "I'm not wicked to everyone. I'm just honestly scathing to people who deserve it. Not my fault that just happens to _be_ everyone." Lyra smiled. "Good luck, Harry."

And she left.

It took Harry a moment to realise that he'd come to the Transfiguration classroom for a reason, and when he did, he no longer felt in the mood to try shattering things with his wand.

Lyra sat in a permanent state of discomfort as the crowd around her roared, cheered, leered and jeered at the four champions far below them. The final task of the Triwizard Cup (or was it Quadwizard Cup now?) was only moments away from beginning. Normally Lyra would have sat out the spectacle, choosing instead to do something _mildly_ constructive - like practicing a silencing charm or 'pun' hex - but she felt she owed some shred of support to the two champions Hogwarts had produced; a feeling that was quelled the moment she took her seat in the grandstand.

Finally the horn was sounded, to her relief, and the four champions took off. The sooner it started, she figured, the sooner the task would be over and she could go back to having the ability to hear through both ears. Oh well. She could always keep her hopes up that maybe someone would go insane down there and hex the entirety of the Hogwarts faculty - she could dream, right?

At one point it looked like Krum had fallen off his rocker. The crowed screamed at him endlessly, though of course he couldn't hear them. Delacour appeared to have a breakdown of some kind. Potter had been there at both times, although whether he was helping or hindering in the situation couldn't be established. And then he and Diggory entered the centre of the maze, and no one had a clue what was going on. The victory for Hogwarts had been decided - but would the Hufflepuff or the Gryffindor come out on top?

Lyra was really only mildly curious, but even she began to feel the nagging effects of impatience as the two adolescents apparently battled it out. Then, after a rather extended wait, there was a flash as two figures appeared outside the confines of the maze. Lyra stood, despite herself, to try and get a better view. She didn't need the assistance of the whispers around her to realise she had been mistaken. It wasn't two figures. It was one figure. And one body.

From her vantage point she couldn't really tell what was happening, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. And then another wave of whispers hit, and what they carried made Lyra freeze, her surroundings suddenly blurring into a meaningless nothing.

Okay, students of Hogwarts. Let's choose two people who would be overjoyed if the Dark Lord were ever to be resurrected. Draco Malfoy, you say? Expected. And the other? Ah yes, of course. Lyra White.

But Lyra White was not overjoyed.

Oh, she was so very, very _not_ overjoyed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Hogwarts School for Mind-Numbingly Boring People _

_Several Months after the Rise of the Dark Lord..._

Dustin sat at the small kitchen table as Lyra double checked she had all of her fourth year school belongings.

Dustin absently stirred his tea without touching the spoon. "Maybe... maybe we should leave the country. You know, just until things settle down."

Lyra sighed.

"No, Dustin. We've been over this. I cannot just leave school. Besides, He'll know, and He'll just be angrier."

Halfway through a sip of his tea, Dustin almost dropped his mug. "Lyra. You _know _I don't mean Him."

Lyra locked her trunk, finally satisfied she had everything she needed.

"She can't do anything to you. And if you must..." She pulled her trunk off the coffee table and placed it by the foot of the couch. "Leave. Run to... Australia, if you think it'll help. But I'm staying here. Besides, if She wants, She'll find you. No matter where you go."

Dustin appeared to not really have listened to what she said as his eyes slightly glazed over.

"Maybe... maybe I'll go on holiday... I here Madagascar is wonderful... for the rest of the year..."

Lyra walked over to him and deliberately caught his gaze.

"You think you need to leave, you leave. Don't stay here on my behalf. I'll be safe in Hogwarts."

Dustin just nodded, and she knew it wouldn't occur to him to consider the fact that he may need to stay away longer than just a year until he was well out of harm's way. After he realised this, she knew he wouldn't come back. No matter how much affection he had for her, his Slytherin survival instincts would keep him at bay. She didn't hold that against him, of course. But she did wonder how she would fare for two months out on her own the next summer holidays. Guess she'd find out.

Dustin put down what must have, at this point, been cold tea and gave her a half-hearted smile. She rolled her eyes but returned the gesture.

Dustin looked down at his watch. "Oh. You should probably leave now if you want to catch the train on time."

"Not coming?" Lyra asked, already knowing the answer.

"Ah... you know me and crowds." Dustin looked at her again. "Now come here and give your godfather a hug."

Lyra walked over and gave him a rather awkward one armed hug before finally she turned to depart.

"Lyra..."

She turned when Dustin spoke her name and raised an eyebrow.

He looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Just... you know..." He trailed off.

Lyra nodded.

"I know."

Lyra stood on the edge of the road and threw a look over her shoulder at the tiny house she and her godfather called home. She didn't realise it at the time, but that would be her very last glance.

She threw her wand arm out onto the road – which happened to be her left – and flagged the Knight Bus. It stopped immediately, as it did every year, and Lyra climbed aboard.

_Crack._

An uneventful trip later – people had learnt not to try and talk to her anymore – Lyra stood alone out the front of King's Cross Station, trunk already piled onto a trolley. Occasionally a Muggle would glance sideways at her, curious as to why a young fourteen-year-old girl would be out on her own. Thankfully, none asked if they could help her. Better than last year and the year before.

She pulled her trolley to a stop between platforms 9 and 10 and with a casual check that no Muggles were watching her she walked through the barrier. The Hogwarts Express billowed steam as it alerted the students to hurry up and get on. Lyra loaded her luggage into a compartment, ignoring everyone, and finally boarded. She managed to snag an empty compartment to herself and she sat down. She was tempted to pull out her harp and play, but the odds of her not being interrupted weren't high. Instead she opted pull out a Muggle book she'd happened across which was actually rather good.

About an hour into the trip Lyra was quite enthralled by her book – Dantes had just been informed that the treasure the Mad Priest spoke of could be found on Monte Cristo. However just as Dantes was about to stage his escape, a scraping sound as the compartment door opened brought her back to the Hogwarts Express. She was determined to continue reading; however the person seemed very insistent as they sat down opposite her. Lyra sighed and looked from her book into two cold, sliver-grey eyes.

Lyra just sat and waited for the smirking boy to break the silence first.

"I hate to interrupt this wild party you have going on in here," Draco drawled, motioning around the otherwise vacant compartment.

"I'm afraid that smirk of yours says otherwise," Lyra replied dryly. She closed her book and tossed it lightly aside, looking him squarely in the face. "What do you want, Draco? Why are you here?"

Draco attempted to arrange his features into a hurt expression. "I'm simply doing my civic duty as a Prefect." He motioned none too discreetly to the shiny badge he now sported. "And you might want to watch that tone of yours, Lyra. Offending a Prefect just won't do."

"Does offending a prat count?" she offered in challenge. However instead of rising to the bait, Draco did a rather uncharacteristic thing and let her jibe pass by him. He looked at her for a moment, and she him, before finally he seemed to deflate ever so slightly.

"Look, Lyra. You know why I'm here."

Lyra raised an eyebrow at him. "I want to say I do, but that would be a lie. Enlighten me."

Draco seemed to shift uncomfortably. "Mother... Mother asked me to..." he trailed off, deciding that tact just wasn't his style and readopted his air of arrogance. "I'm keeping my eye on you. Last year you stepped out of line – insulting me in front of my friends. This year don't even _think_ about trying to pull that crap off." He paused and gave her a satisfied leer. "You've been given fair warning."

Lyra couldn't help but smile. "Oh I _do_ tremble with fear of your retribution, Mr. Malfoy. I wouldn't _dream_ of challenging _you_."

She was mocking him. And Draco knew it. He just sneered and with exaggerated grace swept to his feet. He began to approach the compartment door when Lyra spoke.

"But you're wrong, you know." She absently picked up her book, but still looked him directly in the eye as he stepped out of the compartment, turning to listen to what she had to say. "I didn't insult you in front of your friends." She looked pointedly down at her book. "You don't _have_ any friends."

Draco looked as though he was going to retort, but since he could find no words to contradict her, he instead closed the compartment door with a snap and stalked off.

Clambering off the train was always less than desirable for Lyra. The mad rush made people forget that they should avoid her at all costs, and often she found herself too close to her fellow students than was preferable. She seated herself in a carriage without ceremony, pointedly ignoring the uncomfortable looks the Ravenclaw fourth years kept shooting her. Finally they piled out in front of the front doors to Hogwarts and she gratefully entered with the throng of students. She took her usual place near the end of the table, as far away from any other person as the seating arrangements would allow. The Hall very suddenly fell silent, and as she watched, the Sorting Hat came alive.

She listened to the song with mild interest, noting how different it was from previous years. It sang of the great four houses uniting together. Mmm. _That_ was likely...

After what seemed like a very lengthy piece of advice, the Hat fell silent once more. Lyra sat as patiently as ever, clapping once or twice as a student was Sorted into Slytherin. The Headmaster gave his usual address at the end of the Sorting and the Feast began.

Lyra attacked her food with her usual amount of gusto – that is to say, none at all.  
Of course, being a Slytherin meant she was surrounded by individuals who wouldn't _dream_ of shovelling food into their orifice at the velocity as say select Gryffindors would, but they too were clearly ravenous. Lyra picked absently at a piece of meat on her plate. She wasn't particularly hungry. Never was at the start of school Feast.

Finally the near empty plates in front of them began to disappear, leaving behind lethargic, dopey students eager to get some sleep. The Headmaster stood and a hush fell over the crowd, as per usual. Though Lyra disliked the man greatly, she did feel the slightest inkling of respect toward him, even if it was only grudgingly. She sat in considerate silence along with the rest of the school – not that she had anyone to talk to besides.

Dumbledore, after his standard pre-term notices, began to introduce new members of staff. First he motioned to a woman he identified as Grubbly-Plank, the new Care of Magical Creatures Professor, and of no consequence to Lyra. The next and final staff member to be introduced had the most sickly-sweet smile Lyra had ever seen. The woman's self-important air was suffocating, even though the Slytherin girl was halfway across the Hall. Dressed almost solely in pink, Lyra knew immediately she would have a conflict of opinion with this teacher. Well, the year promised to be less dull than the last, if nothing else. Immediately whispers began to spring up around Lyra. A couple of Seventh Years were taking bets that this new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher would either die, have a mental breakdown or be chased from the school by a giant flesh eating bat – where on Earth did that last one come from?

However a simple introduction to the school community appeared to be rather inadequate for the decidedly conceited, pink-clad, temporary (undoubtedly) Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. With a simple cough she managed to ruin a tradition that probably stretched back to the beginnings of the school – _no one_ interrupted the Headmaster's opening speech. Usually Lyra would give the woman some credit for overthrowing a centuries' old code of respect, however she just couldn't bring herself to as the squat Professor stood and straightened her fluffy pink cardigan.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Umbridge simpered "for those kind words of welcome."

Lyra had the distinct impression the woman was not thankful at all as she began to drone on about how delighted she was to be back in Hogwarts. Lyra's attention could only be held for so long, but just as she was under threat of casting her gaze down the table in an attempt to spot something mildly interesting, Umbridge's words began to sink in. Nearly all of her fellow students had given up on paying attention to the drivel minutes ago; however she found her eyes narrowing suspiciously at the buzz words the Ministry official kept throwing into her speech. And Lyra could think of only one thing that made a person use excessive buzz words – they wanted to tell people something without _actually_ having to tell them. Paying closer attention to what Umbridge was saying Lyra found she could _just _discern what that 'something' was.

Change was about to happen at Hogwarts. And Lyra knew – she just _knew_ – from Professor Umbridge's haughty, upturned smile. She was _not_ going to like it.

Later that evening Lyra found herself loitering in the hall outside the Slytherin common room. This was general practice for the fourth year most nights. She found it was easier to avoid pointless, unstimulating arguments with her fellows in the dormitory if they were already asleep. When the time ticked almost an hour past curfew, she entered the common room and made her way to her dormitory. As she had planned, all of the other girls were deep in sleep. They had left her the bed that was further away from all of the others – not out of kindness, of course. They were under the impression that this was a form of harsh exclusion, not a favour. Lyra silently got changed and slipped into bed, careful to place her enchanted alarm next to her so that it would wake her well and truly before the others.

She let out an inaudible sigh. Even with the impending threat of the Ministry and the general animosity ever single student in the school felt towards her, Lyra had to admit – it was nice to be back.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_Defence Against Respectable Superiors_

Classes on Monday were expectedly uninspiring. In Transfiguration, at least, Lyra was able to spend most of her double lesson looking up the incantation to turn a person's hand into a giant claw. Her reasoning behind such was the theory that if she ever suspected someone was about to attack her, she could Transfigure their wand hand into a claw. The moment they attempted to grip their wand, they'd crush it in two. Not particularly practical in the slightest, but it might manage the element of surprise. Besides, it would be absolutely hilarious to see the attacker's expression after the fact.

McGonagall looked on with a distinct air of disapproval as Lyra practiced the stabbing wand movements, but said nothing. After all, the Slytherin student had mastered Transfiguring a bowl into a hat in the first five minutes of the lesson, much to her classmates' – and Professor's – annoyance.

In Arithmancy Professor Vector assigned everyone to read a passage written by Bridget Wenlock on a basic overview of the magical properties of the number 7. Lyra skim read it, completely disinterested, and occupied herself for the rest of the lesson by practicing what she had leant in Transfiguration on the Gryffindor boy seated in front of her. It took several attempts, but finally she managed to at least give him an exoskeleton on his forefinger. Not much, she conceded, but it was a start.

The day drew to a close with her usually most amusing lesson. She and Snape often flung barbs at each other across the classroom – figuratively, of course. But she steered clear of such provocation today. She knew he would be in a narky mood since he missed out on the DADA job once again. He took his anger out on an unsuspecting Hufflepuff girl, declaring that her potion was a complete and utter failure. The girl (Elizabeth maybe?) almost burst into tears. Lyra had to stifle a snicker. The hypocrite.

At the end of the lesson, Lyra handed in a potion that was barely passable. Which was exactly as she had intended. Why work hard when working less yields practically the same result? Snape took her proffered vial without comment.

Dinner wasn't a noteworthy event. She took a few mouthfuls of some strange yellow soup she couldn't identify, grabbed a couple of bread rolls and headed for the common room. She hoped if she got back to her dormitory early enough, she could pretend to be asleep and escape a confrontation. However, she couldn't be quite so lucky.

"Oh. Look what the _cat_ dragged in," said the squeaky voice of Elanora Riley.

"You could at least _attempt_ a little creativity with your opening phrases," Lyra replied in a bored tone as she finished off the last of her bread roll. Elanora sat on her bed next to her three sheep. Friends. Friends, not sheep.

"We didn't see you come in last night or in the morning. Sleep out in the hall did you?"

Lyra barely managed to contain the urge to roll her eyes. Elanora wasn't worth an eye roll.

"You know if I weren't quite so attuned to the condescending inflections in your voice, Elanora, I might actually mistake your words for genuine concern for my wellbeing. But never fear. I would never make the assumption that you _actually_ have a shred of humanity running through those cold veins of yours."

Lyra sat down on her four-poster bed and began to draw the curtains around her. Elanora and her followers scowled.

"You're a bitch, White. Have I ever told you that?"

Lyra lay down on her bed, fully clothed, and put her hands behind her head. "Only every week of every year you've ever known me," she muttered, taking care to ensure Elanora couldn't hear her. Lyra took out her wand and attempted to cast a silencing charm on the curtains, but they only managed to muffle Elanora's followers' shrieks of fake laughter slightly. The pillow she clamped over her ears seemed to help a little more, however, and eventually she managed to slip into a restless sleep.

Lyra was mildly curious about her impending Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. The content, she suspected, would be exceedingly dull. But the teacher... Umbridge showed a lot of promise to be the kind of person one didn't cross lightly. Sounded perfectly tempting to Lyra.

She entered the classroom with the throng of her classmates. Umbridge was already seated behind her oak desk at the front of the classroom. She smiled that sickening smile of hers as everyone took a seat. Lyra took her seat towards the very edge of the classroom. It was the closest to the door and right at the edge of Umbridge's vision. Their pink-clad teacher stood (Lyra assumed) and began to address the class.

"Good morning, everyone."

A couple of Slytherins near the front of the class responded in kind. This seemed to bother her greatly.

"Goodness, has no one in this school taught its students any manners? If I were addressing you one on one, I would expect you to reply. It's no different in a group. Let's try _again_. Good Morning, class."

"Good morning, Professor Umbridge," a vast majority of the class chorused back. Lyra made up the minority.

The class's answer appeared to appease her somewhat; however she did not retake her seat. Instead, she walked around her desk, a serious look on her face. Lyra wasn't quite sure what was coming next, but she suspected she would find it amusing.

"Now, class, before we begin – ah, wands away, if you please," she began, motioning to a couple of hopeful Gryffindors as they lay their wands on their desks. She turned back to the rest of the class before continuing. "Before we begin, I would like to talk to you all about the tales you've been hearing lately around the school concerning You-Know-Who."

A murmur ran through the classroom and Umbridge had to clear her throat _hem hem_ to gain everyone's attention once more. "Yes. You are young and impressionable, and I want to make one thing very clear to you all as this year begins. The Dark Lord has _not_ returned, he is _not_ about to storm into this classroom to harm you all, and the words of a mister Harry Potter are complete and total fabrication."

Lyra frowned. Could she be any more condescending?

Umbridge's words took immediate effect upon the class.

"That's not true!" a red headed girl near the back challenged. "Harry saw You-Know-Who come back! He fought him!"

Umbridge turned her gaze to the girl. "Your name, please?"

"Ginny Weasly," the red head replied fiercely. "The Ministry has been spreading lies about Harry for months. Why are you being so blind about this?"

This time, Umbridge practically ignored her. "Students, let me tell you again. Harry Potter is a disturbed young man-" A couple of Slytherins snickered at this "-and he doesn't really know what he's saying. I'm sure he believes he fought the Dark Lord, but this just isn't the case."

"And what about Cedric, huh?" said a blonde boy next to Weasly. He seemed to gain courage from his companion's words. "How do explain that?"

Umbridge sighed. "Yes. Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident..."

Lyra couldn't help herself at this stage.

"An accident? Really? Are you saying Diggory _accidently_ walked into the path of a Killing Curse?" She pretended to look thoughtful for a moment. "Oh yes, I can see that happening."

Had she been talking about anything else, the class probably would have laughed at her words. As it was, murmurs began to spread around the room, and suddenly Umbridge didn't seem quite so pleasant.

"And what is _your_ name, Miss...?"

Lyra looked directly at her. "White."

"And do you have a first name, Miss White?" Umbridge said, her voice straining to keep its composure.

"Assumedly," Lyra said absently as she made a point of examining her textbook. Umbridge waited, but it soon became apparent that Lyra was not about to continue.

"And may I ask what your first name _is_?" the Professor pressed, her tone so thin it was close to breaking. Lyra looked up at her pleasantly.

"You may."

Umbridge's eyes flashed very dangerously, but instead of insisting upon Lyra forfeiting her name, she simply returned to her desk to locate her class role. She scanned it briefly, eyes narrowing as she found Lyra's name.

"Well I am very disappointed, Miss White," Umbridge said as she took her seat behind the desk. "I would have thought a member of Slytherin House would show some respect to her superiors."

Lyra smiled widely. All eyes were on her now. Everyone knew what was coming. For a change, the Gryffindors looked pleased. The Slytherins did not. No surprises in that area.

"I must beg your pardon, Professor," Lyra said, attempting to sound as polite as she possibly could. "I could have sworn you just referred to yourself as my superior, but that simply cannot be so."

Umbridge's smile was back now. "Child, I am smarter, more capable, more experienced and have much more power than yourself. I am _better _than you in every way."

Lyra returned her smile. "That may be true, but the simple fact that you are having this argument with a _fourteen_ year old lends a slight amount of discredit to your claims."

Umbridge seemed to be frozen for a moment, her eyes locked on Lyra's. It was a battle of wills; one Lyra was determined to win. Instead of holding the other woman's gaze, however, Lyra slowly leaned across her desk to look at the watch of the person sitting in front of her.

"Would you look at that, Professor. We appear to be out of time. I suppose we'll have to leave _real_ learning for our next lesson together."

And with that Lyra began to gather up her things, her fellow classmates following suit as her words broke the spell that had settled over them. Under Umbridge's scrutiny, most were out the door in a matter of seconds. Just as Lyra was about to leave, Umbridge spoke.

"I will be docking ten points from Slytherin for your behaviour, Miss White, though it pains me to do so. I can only hope your attitude improves from here on out." The woman's voice was a terrible mockery of sweet. Lyra paused slightly before she left. As she did, she couldn't help but throw a foreboding comment over her shoulder at her Professor.

"I would not hold my breath if I were you, Professor."

"Then I expect Mr. Filch will be seeing you in detention Wednesday night. 5 o'clock. Do not be late."

Lyra left with a smirk plastered across her face.

"Good evening, Mr. Filch. What order of punishment do we have lined up for me this fine evening?"

Filch didn't react to Lyra's pleasantness. With a grunt he jabbed a finger over his shoulder at a pile of ancient trophies in clear need of polishing. Lyra sighed and made her way over to them.

"Do these things have some kind of polish-repelling charm placed on them? The amount of students who must receive this detention..."

Filch didn't say anything when he finally came to inform Lyra her detention was over. He was past attempting to properly discipline her when she didn't properly do her detention. Tonight was no exception. She had piled the trophies precariously atop one another, creating what she deemed a rather impressive tower of silver and gold.

"Ah, detention over already? Well, that's quite alright. No doubt you'll be seeing me again within the week, Mr. Filch, don't you worry about that."

Filch grunted again before he turned and swiftly left. Lyra just shook her head and followed him from the classroom, taking a right turn to return to the Slytherin common room.

The weekend could not come quickly enough, in Lyra's humble opinion. She had done her best that Friday afternoon to keep her head down in Defence Against the Dark Arts – she was giving poor Umbridge false hope that the detention had actually had an effect upon her. At that moment she was wandering atop the Astronomy Tower. It wasn't quite early enough for McGonagall to have vacated her classroom, so Lyra was wasting time.

It was quite breezy at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Lyra was forced to tie her long, jet black hair back into a pony tail to keep it out of her face. Despite the wind, she found it very peaceful away from everyone else. At least the howling wind tended not to say things that were exceptionally idiotic, as her classmates usually did. Not that she would hold that against them.

Just as Lyra was about to turn in for the afternoon – maybe go check the vacancy of her favoured classroom – a soot-coloured owl made itself known by screeching as it flew past her left ear. It perched itself on the banister opposite her, giving her a look that wouldn't have looked out of place accompanied by a snicker. Lyra smiled, holding out her arm to the Sooty owl.

"Atra, how are we, boy?"

The owl gave a hoot and happily hopped onto Lyra's outstretched arm. His eyes were a bottomless black, and it his stare unsettled most people. Lyra, for want of a better word, admired him.

"You have something for me, hm?"

Again, the owl hooted, holding out his leg expectantly. Lyra cocked her head slightly to the side, wondering what her god father had sent her this early in the year.

It was a tiny package, nothing particularly noteworthy about it. The minute Lyra untied the small parcel, Atra gave a final farewell hoot and swooped away. He wouldn't go to the Owlery; like Lyra, he didn't much like the fellow members of his species.

Curious, Lyra leaned against the banister and unwrapped her package. Inside was simply a note which read 'Call me paranoid, but you can never have too much luck', along with a silver ring. The band was a curled snake, with one large eye inset with what Lyra assumed was an emerald stone. Just by holding it in her hand, Lyra could tell it was imbued with a myriad of enchantments. One of which, she discovered, was one to make it fit her finger perfectly as she slipped it on. The emerald seemed to glow ominously for a moment, and then it lay dormant. She examined it briefly for a moment longer, deciding she liked it quite well. She would have to thank Dustin for his gift, if she could. But that could wait until the next day. At that second, all she wanted was to play her harp. With a light smile she spun the new ring on her finger as she traipsed down the stairs to the rest of the school.

It was Saturday morning, and the rest of Lyra's dormitory occupants were still fast asleep – thankfully. With practiced silence she quickly jotted down a thank-you to her god father, put his name on the front and slipped out into the common room. One sleepy Slytherin was already up, and she suspected this was only due to them falling asleep down there the night before. She didn't really feel like breakfast yet, so as she left the Slytherin common room she made her way directly towards the Owlery.

On her way, she managed to get herself in the awkward position of walking slightly behind a Ravenclaw girl. In the back of her mind, Lyra vaguely remembered her name to be Chang something or other. The Ravenclaw was clearly disgruntled by the fact Lyra was apparently stalking her. Lyra didn't care, of course, until they walked through a particular hallway with the bust of some minutely famous Hogwarts alumni balancing precariously on the edge of its marble podium. Lyra wouldn't have paid it any mind had she not noticed just out of the corner of her eye the school poltergeist floating behind it. Chang obviously didn't see him, and strode swiftly beneath the stone sculpture. Lyra realised a fraction of a second too late what was about to happen, drawing her wand just after Peeves shoved the bust onto the unsuspecting Ravenclaw. Chang let out a yelp, moving to the side just in time as it came crashing down next to her. Before she looked up, Peeves gave a silent cackle and vanished.

Chang whipped around, searching for the culprit – and she found one in Lyra, who stood with her wand still drawn, a mildly annoyed look on her face as she stared at the place Peeves had disappeared from.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded, stepping around debris to go and confront the Slytherin girl. "I could have been seriously injured by that!"

Lyra came back to the situation at hand with her usual style. "Really?" she said sarcastically. Chang looked exceptionally furious, so she dropped the act slightly, rolling her eyes. "Look, Chang, I didn't do it. You want someone to yell at, go yell at Peeves."

Chang narrowed her eyes. "You really expect me to believe that?"

"Well, considering it _is_ the truth... if you want I can craft a fanciful tale of how the bust transformed itself into a butterfly, attempted to fly away before transforming _back_ into a marble statue and falling at your feet. If it's more to your liking, that is."

Lyra didn't wait for Chang to respond. Instead, she stepped around the seething Ravenclaw girl and proceeded towards the Owlery. Unfortunately, Chang didn't appear to be finished. She argued with the Slytherin the entire way to the Owlery, Lyra becoming increasingly bored with each of the other girl's words.

Finally, the pair began to ascend the steps to the loft of owls.

"You know what; I think I'm going to report you to your Head of House."

Lyra rolled her eyes for what must have been the thousandth time that conversation.

"Oh Merlin, don't tell Snape," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "He may do something _terrible_, like _wave his finger at me_. I really don't think I could handle such a thing."

Chang stood fuming at this.

"Ugh! You're just a lying, good-for-nothing Slytherin, who-"

"What's going on?"

Lyra looked up, slightly surprised to find none other than Harry Potter standing perplexed as the two girls argued.

"Oh! Harry!" Chang said in a fluster. "This _Slytherin_," she practically spat, "almost dropped the bust of Paracelsus on top of me!"

Potter frowned at this. "What? Lyra wouldn't do something like that." Chang scoffed. "Besides, I heard Peeves was about to do that to the next person who walked past. Are you sure it wasn't him?"

Chang paused for a moment, clearly not expecting his response. "Oh," was all she managed.

However Lyra, uncharacteristically, was very suddenly annoyed.

"Of course, now that a _Gryffindor_ has said otherwise, you believe him. You didn't seem so convinced five minutes ago when you were yowling your head off at me for saying the precise same thing."

Chang seemed to be extremely embarrassed, but Lyra wasn't through with her yet.

"Honestly, you call _us_ the racists. At least we openly admit it. But you, all of you, jump at the chance to show how much you _hate_ Slytherins, how intractably deceitful we are. Slightly ironic, wouldn't you agree?"

Chang was angry again now, and though Lyra had only raised her voice slightly, the other girl was practically screaming.

"How dare you! Slytherins _are_ deceitful – it's part of your nature! You can't possibly compare us to _you_! Isn't that right, Harry?" Chang shot the alarmed Gryffindor a look that clearly said disagreeing with her would not be a good choice of action. He scratched the back of his head, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

"Ah... well..."

"No, don't bring Potter into this," Lyra said, attempting to give him an out. Potter looked at her gratefully, but shrank back at the look on Chang's face.

"Why? Because you know he'll be on my side?"

Lyra shook her head in disbelief. "Incredible. Truly incredible. You just do not get it, do you? Well you know what; I've decided to post my letter another time." She made to leave.

"Don't bother," Chang spat, sweeping past her. "_I'm_ going."

And with that the disgruntled Ravenclaw left.

Lyra breathed out a long sigh. She hadn't gotten that riled in a long time. She turned, not surprised to see a confused and slightly worried Potter.

"Ah, terribly sorry, Potter. Where are my manners?" she said in a much lighter, more usual tone. "How are you?"

Potter blinked a few times before he could manage a reply.

"Ah, yeah, fine, actually." He looked at her, unsure if he should ask what he was thinking. "Uh, just curious, but, what was that about exactly?"

Lyra smiled half-heartedly and made her way further into the Owlery. She had to choose a school owl since Atra preferred to stay with Dustin.

"Almost entirely what it sounded like," she said absently. "A slight disagreement, is all."

"Oh."

Potter frowned again and look at the door Chang left through.

Lyra turned away from him as she tied her letter to the plain barn owl she had chosen. "You seem disappointed Chang left us." She turned and gave him a sly look. "I can go ask her to come back, if you like."

It took Potter a moment to realise she was joking. He just shook his head, and they both let their owls go. As he placed his hand on the wooden railing, Lyra noticed something on the back of it.

"'You must not tell lies' hm?" Potter looked at her in confusion for a moment before he realised she was reading from the back of his cut hand. He pulled it away in alarm and attempted to cover it, but the damage was done. Lyra looked away from him, her expression pleasant and her tone light. "I wouldn't have pegged you as the self harm type, Potter."

"What, you think I did this to myself? It was..." he trailed off, and Lyra had to give him a questioning look to make him continue. He sighed. "It was Umbridge. I had detention with her, and she has this quill..."

"Ah yes, I did hear about your little disagreement. Sounds delightful," Lyra said. Her lip curled ever so slightly, her distaste for the woman hard to conceal.

Very suddenly, the Owlery door burst open and in shuffled the caretaker, Filch.

"Aha!" he said, jowls aquiver as he pointed at Potter. "I've had a tip-off thast you are intending to place a massive order for Dungbombs!"

Potter regarded the caretaker as he crossed his arms.

"Who told you I was ordering Dungbombs?"

"Indeed, don't you think Potter is far more the Fanged Frisbee type?" Lyra interjected absently.

Filch gaped at her for a moment, then decided to ignore her. "Potter, hand over whatever it is you're sending."

"Can't," Potter said defiantly. "Already sent it."

Filch glared at him with beady eyes. "Oh? Says who?"

"Says we," Lyra cut in again, eying Filch off before Potter could respond. "Come now, Mr. Filch. Would I ever lie to you?"

The old caretaker glared at her for a moment, Lyra staring as innocently as she could back. With a huff, Filch clearly decided he couldn't do anything one way or the other so he shuffled back through the door, not even sparing a second glance at the pair.

Potter let out a slight laugh.

"Uh, wow. Thanks."

Lyra found she was genuinely pleased, though of course she didn't show it.

"You're quite welcome, Potter."

He scratched his head again.

"Call me Harry, really."

Lyra was surprised by his words, but she just smiled. It was small, but still there. "Well, Harry it is."

The two left the Owlery together, walking slowly.

"Before... you don't seem to be one of Umbridge's biggest fans, huh?" Harry asked. Lyra nodded.

"Mmm. She and I have what a diplomat might describe as a conflict of opinion."

Harry let out a slight laugh, which Lyra found quite strange. People didn't usually laugh at her quips. Then again, people were usually the target of said quips.

"Well, take it from someone who knows – don't get on her bad side." He held up his hand to emphasise his point.

"Duly noted, although that advice may have been more useful at the _beginning_ of the week."

They stopped walking as they came to intersecting hallways.

"Well..." Harry said. "I guess I'll see you around, Lyra." He began to walk in the opposite direction.

Lyra nodded. "Indeed. Oh," she called as a thought struck her. "I'm sorry about Chang, by the way... actually, to be honest I'm not, but I felt like I should say something anyway."

At that point she turned, so she couldn't see Harry's reaction. She had a sneaking suspicion, however, that he was attempting to hide a smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Ah, yes, a Superiority Complex, I presume? _

"White! Hey, White!"

Lyra halted as the pointed blonde drawled her name.

"Yes, Draco? How may I help you?" she said as she turned. Her tone was slightly strained, though she still managed to conserve her trademark pleasantness.

Draco strolled over to her, his cronies flanking him either side.

"Heard you and Umbridge got into a... _disagreement_... the other day."

Lyra raised her eyebrow at him slightly as she sank down into a vacant armchair. The common room was expectedly empty on this fine Sunday lunch hour. Draco stopped just in front of her and bent down, attempting to look intimidating by invading her personal space. Needless to say, said attempt failed.

"Don't get on Umbridge's bad side, White. For _your_ sake."

Lyra cocked her head to the side slightly and narrowed her eyes at the smug boy.

"I think you're losing your touch, Draco. That threat sounded suspiciously like _advice._"

Draco smirked, but it seemed forced. He straightened to his full height – which Lyra had to admit these days wasn't something to sneeze at.

"Things are going to start changing around here," he said with a haughtily knowing air. "Stay off her radar, and you won't have a problem."

Draco flicked his eyes down at her, sneered, and moved off.

Unfortunately, as Lyra found out the next morning, Draco was right.

"Hogwarts High Inquisitor?"

Lyra frowned slightly as she scanned the article of _The Daily Prophet_ she'd briefly nicked from a protesting second year. She snickered slightly at the phrase '_totally revolutionising the teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts'_.

"Revolutionising... that's certainly _a_ word for it, though not one I would personally chose."

She dropped the paper back in front of the second year – much to their annoyance as it landed in their cereal. Lyra herself simply grabbed a couple of pieces of toast, hoping that in her first lesson of Transfiguration she would be able to watch the spectacle unfold of McGonagall versus Umbridge.

She was to be disappointed, however, as her class resumed much as it always did. One kid did manage to transfigure his flower petal into a mousetrap as opposed to the butterflies they were aiming for, and that was certainly amusing while it lasted as he screamed for someone to pull it off his finger.

In fact that entire day she didn't see head nor hide of the sickening woman. Well, she was scheduled to see her the next day, so she figured she could hold out on offending random passersby until then.

"Now class, please pull out your books and turn to page twenty-nine. No speaking."

Umbridge gave them nothing more than those instructions, and class began.

"Professor, if I may be so bold as to state; but I have a question."

Lyra didn't even open her books before she began her first challenge of the lesson. Umbridge didn't even look up from whatever it was she was doing.

"Miss White, your hand is not in the air to ask a question."

Lyra pretended to look confused for a moment. "But Professor, surely since I just said I had a question, it would not be so difficult a leap to discern that I want to ask you something."

Umbridge looked up now, meeting Lyra's eye directly. "It is a sign of _respect_ to raise your hand before speaking," she said as though she were explaining something to a five year old. Lyra nodded in apparent understanding.

"Ah, I see now. It's your superiority complex that you have going on."

Umbridge's expression didn't change, and she pointedly looked back down at whatever it was she was doing. Lyra thrust her hand into the air with exaggerated enthusiasm. Umbridge ignored her. People in the class began to snicker at Lyra's display, some pointing and muttering to their friends. Lyra smiled.

"Professor, I really think you should make a query as to what it is I wish to ask. I am becoming a disruption to the class, you see, and I hate to rob them of their precious learning time."

More snickers erupted at this.

Umbridge put down her quill and stood, making her way around her desk. She approached Lyra no further, however.

"Yes, Miss White? Do you have a question about the text?" Umbridge asked, her tone managing to, surprisingly, keep all of its sweetness.

"Not so much about the text, you see. You see it's just... I wanted to know what the purpose of this class is."

Umbridge blinked several times before she realised that was all. She smiled. It was the epitome of condescension.

"Well, in Defence Against the Dark Arts, it is the idea that one should be able to defend against harm that another witch or wizard is intending to inflict upon–"

"No, no, Professor. I'm well aware of the purpose of the _subject_. No, I wanted to know what the purpose of this _class_ is."

Umbridge narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. "I must ask you to clarify what you mean, my dear."

Lyra's smile widened. "Well, if my understanding is correct – which I'm almost positive it is – we are simply learning out of a textbook. My fellow peers and I could read this book any time we wished in our leisure, and we could then use this time _now_ to do something perhaps _mildly_ constructive, such as..." She took a moment to cast around for something to do. "...badminton..."

Umbridge's face hadn't changed throughout Lyra's little speech, but the young Slytherin girl could see that her eyes were practically on fire with fury.

"Am I to understand you are challenging my method of teaching?"

"You are the Hogwarts High Inquisitor, after all. I thought I had best bring my concerns to _you_."

Umbridge didn't move for a moment. It didn't even appear she was breathing. Then, very suddenly, she said "I can see that your last punishment has done little to prove to you that you are required to show some respect to your superiors."

"I'm afraid not, Professor," Lyra said honestly. "You'll have to be a little more creative than polishing trophies for a night."

"Then I shall see you in my office each night for the rest of the week for a detention. I must say, I am truly disappointed in you, Miss White. Truly disappointed."

She turned back to her desk, got out a piece of parchment and began to scribble something hastily on it. When she was finished, she tapped it with her stubby excuse for a wand and it magically sealed itself.

"Come here, Miss White. I wish you to take this to your Head of House. A shame, I had hoped to only give one of these out in my first month here. Clearly you students require more discipline than I imagined."

Lyra got out of her seat, gathered her belongings and strode to the front of the room. She took the scroll of parchment with a well-meaning smile and left the room, leaving a tsunami of whispers and mutterings in her wake.

"Miss White. I assume you are well aware that you are not scheduled to be in my class until Wednesday."

Lyra couldn't help but smirk at Snape's irritated tone.

"Well, you know me, Professor. I just couldn't wait those twenty-four hours to bask in your glow."

A couple of Snape's second years laughed at her comment, but were immediately silenced by a single glance in his direction. Despite his apparent displeasure, Lyra could almost see the corners of his mouth turn up in amusement.

"Your instructions are on the board; you all know what to do." Snape swept away from his place at the centre of the classroom and beckoned Lyra over. He turned, looking at her expectantly.

"I've been sent by Professor Umbridge," she said simply, holding out the piece of incriminating parchment. Snape took it without a word, tapped it with his wand and unfurled it. His eyes narrowed with each line of text they flew across. Finally he looked up, though he didn't seem as angry as Lyra expected him to be. On the contrary, he just looked tired. He shook his head.

"Miss White... you have to be the most insufferable student I have ever had in my house."

"Thank-you, Sir," Lyra replied, her tone ambiguous.

"You would find that to be a compliment, wouldn't you?" he said, his voice exasperated. "Lyra, Umbridge is not the kind of person to be crossed lightly, and if you want to remain at this school you'll do well to remember that."

Lyra frowned slightly. "Why does everyone keep warning me about her?" she said to no one in particular.

Snape looked very suddenly demanding at her words.

"Who? Who else has been warning you of her?"

Lyra paused for a moment before answering. "Draco has."

Snape seemed to calm slightly at this revelation.

"Professor, don't look so concerned about your students. It ill-befits you. Besides, she's just a teacher. She can hardly expel me. And you of all people should know Dumbledore would _never_ let me out of his sight. It's a sad fact, but at this school, I'm practically untouchable."

Snape did not look nearly as confident as Lyra sounded. "Unfortunately, I fear your confidence in Dumbledore's defiance of the Ministry and its motives is misplaced. He is not the man he once was," Snape warned.

Lyra was quite surprised by her Head of House's confession. "Never thought I would ever hear you say that, Professor."

"And if you want to remain at the bare pass in Potions you currently sit on, you shall not tell a soul that you did."

"Ah, blackmail. There's my favourite Professor back again."

He didn't smile at her, but she knew he was resisting the urge to. She turned, just as the end of the lesson was announced by a yelp of horror as someone's eyebrows caught on fire.

Lyra briefly wondered how on Earth she was going to finish that Runes essay she'd been assigned by Thursday if she had all of these detentions to attend to. She mentally shrugged, deciding it wasn't really that important.

At two minutes past five o'clock, Lyra knocked on Umbridge's office door. She was greeted with an attempt at a petite 'Come in' and she stepped into the relatively large room. The sight that greeted her made her scratch the side of her head in disbelief.

The woman had dressed the room as though a four year old girl was occupying it, not a for_ty_ year old. Kittens and pink covered every available surface. And they weren't even remarkably endearing kittens adorning the walls, either. They either had no fur with slinky skin or they had faces that looked like they'd run into a few too many brick walls.

"Miss White. Please take a seat," Umbridge said in a sugary voice when Lyra finally looked at her.

Lyra nodded to her amiably. "A pleasure to see you again, Professor."

She took the proffered chair by a small writing table that sat opposite Umbridge's large desk. On her own table lay nothing more than a piece of parchment and a quill. Immediately, Lyra grew suspicious, however she said nothing.

"Tonight your punishment will be to write lines," Umbridge informed her with a smile. Lyra looked back down at the parchment.

"Is there anything in particular you wish me to write? A ballad, perhaps, or a serene piece of poetry?"

She could see Umbridge straining to keep her composure, however the older woman merely said "How about you write _I must respect my superiors_. That's really what this whole disagreement is about, isn't it?"

"Well only if you insist..." Lyra said. She picked up the quill, realising she needed something else. "Ah, Professor. I hate to be any more of a nuisance than I have previously been, however... may I trouble you for some ink?"

Umbridge smiled that sicken smile. "You won't require any ink. Off you go." And with that, she looked down at some parchment she had been reading. Lyra narrowed her eyes at the woman slightly, her mind very suddenly flying back to what Potter – Harry – had said early that week. Experimentally, she drew the quill across the top of the page in a straight, bright red line. Barely a second later, an identical line appeared on the back of her hand as though she had been cut, before it eventually healed over. She looked back up at Umbridge, who was smiling triumphantly to herself. Lyra thought for a moment, deciding something quickly before she got straight down to writing her lines, each word etching itself into the back of her hand painfully as she wrote.

By the end of the night, Lyra's hand was read raw. All of the words she had written had healed over, however below her knuckles looked light she had attempted to back-hand Goyle across his thick skull.

"Now, let me have a look at that hand, hm?" Umbridge said. Lyra stood, saying nothing. She held out her hand, feeling slightly annoyed when her Professor felt the need to grab it with her pudgy own. "Mmm, looks like I haven't made an impression yet. That's quite all right, you can come back tomorrow and we'll try again."

Lyra just nodded cordially, grabbing her lined parchment on her way out and scrunching it into a ball before throwing it into Umbridge's waste paper basket by the door. She couldn't help but smirk as she left.

The next night proceeded much like the first. Lyra said nothing except a polite and cheerful greeting and an identical farewell. At the end of the night, Umbridge examined her angrily red hand, just like the first. She seemed dissatisfied, however since it was past midnight she let the Slytherin go. As Lyra left, she grabbed her piece of paper, scrunched it up and threw it away.

It was still just the end of summer, but Lyra could already feel a chill creeping over the castle. She really hated the cold, she decided as she wrapped her robes around her tighter.

"White. What _are_ you doing out of bed? Midnight stroll, perhaps?"

Lyra rolled her eyes as she turned around to find Draco standing in an intersecting hallway, a smirk plastered across his pointed features.

"Despite the fact the absence of light at this time of night matches that of my blackened soul et cetera et cetera, I'm not out here because I want to be," Lyra replied smoothly. She jerked her head back over her shoulder from where she had come. "Had a delightful detention. And now, I'll be getting back to my dormitory."

Draco shook his head. "You, in a detention? Who would have guessed?" He turned to leave, probably to finish his prefect patrol. Suddenly he stopped, a thought striking him. "Wait," he demanded sharply. "It wasn't a detention for _Umbridge,_ was it?"

One look was all he needed to confirm that it had been.

"Oh, _Lyra_!" he said exasperatedly, rubbing his forehead.

Lyra was quite taken aback by his sudden outburst, and she wasn't exactly sure how to respond.

"I told you not to get on her bad side!"

"That's like telling Bogart to not scare people. You can try all you like, but chances are it isn't going to happen." For some reason, Lyra felt quite defensive. "And why do you care, Draco? You've never shown any interest in me before now."

"Because Mother..." Draco trailed off, seemingly trying how best to word what he was going to say without sounding like a dependant five year old. And then it clicked in Lyra's head. She knew why Draco was unexpectedly so determined to keep her in line. Snape's words suddenly entered her mind, and she had reason to suspect she was correct. She had to stay in this school, in these halls, or else...

"Alright, Draco. For you, I'll act the picture perfect pupil."

She turned and began to walk away, throwing her final comment over her shoulder.

"At the end of this week, of course. I still have projects underway that can't simply be abandoned."

She knew that Draco didn't _actually_ care about her. He was just under orders, after all. However had Lyra taken the time to see Draco's expression before she swept away, the look of unease in his eyes may have convinced her otherwise.

"May I see your hand, Miss White?" Umbridge said on their third night of detention together.

"You may indeed, Professor," Lyra replied, putting down her quill. She stood, extending her hand across Umbridge's desk to allow her teacher to see the back of her hand. It was red and inflamed, but still the message had healed over. Umbridge looked quite annoyed.

"You must... have thick skin... no matter. I shall see you here, same time tomorrow evening."

Lyra left, not forgetting to throw away her used parchment as she did.

The next evening, Lyra only got to the second line before her hand refused to heal the words etched into it. They stood out stark and red, though perhaps not as much as they would have if the rest of her hand wasn't red and raw as well. She wrote in silence, not alerting Umbridge to the fact that her hand now permanently bore the mark of her punishment. Blood trickled down and across her knuckles, spattering the yellowed parchment grotesquely, making it seem like some kind of horrid suicide note. She wrote and wrote into the night, each line getting harder and harder not to gasp in pain as the words got deeper and deeper.

Finally, Umbridge looked up, a broad smile on her face as she saw Lyra's bloody hand.

"Let me see that now, dear," she said in a mockery of kind voice. Lyra held out her hand obediently, a cheerful smile on her lips.

Umbridge wiped the smeared blood away from Lyra's hand so she could better read the words etched into it. What she saw made her eyes bulge to the point they looked under threat of popping out of their sockets. She wiped the blood on Lyra's hand again, determined she could scrub off what she was apparently reading. The young Slytherin was forced to grit her teeth behind her smile to stop an exclamation of pain escaping.

"May I please have my hand back, Professor? You see, I need it in order to leave," Lyra said evenly.

Umbridge practically threw her hand away, as though it burned her.

"Get out of my office," she said, all pretences of propriety forgotten. She looked up to find Lyra hadn't moved. "I said _get out_!"

Lyra obeyed with a courteous bow, and nothing more.

The castle seemed much prettier this time of night, Lyra decided as she made her way back to her common room. If she reasoned with herself, her victory over that woman was small, but she'd made her point, and that was no mean feat. She stroked the back of her aching hand carefully, reading the words there for the first time herself with a satisfied smile.

_I must be superior, and therefore respected. _


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_And... queue Racism. Oh, I'm sorry. 'School Spirit'_

The next week went by quickly. Umbridge point blank refused to acknowledge Lyra existed, which the Slytherin girl found quite refreshing. She wasn't going to simply ignore Draco's warnings, after all. She was planning on taking a more incognito approach to driving the DADA professor around the twist. It wasn't as fun as her usual blatant ways, but it did provide a nice challenge. For now, Lyra decided, she would do nothing. The year had barely begun, after all.

No one noticed her deeply cut hand, or if they did, no one commented on it. Snape was the only person Lyra caught looking at it, and though the man moved on quickly without saying a word, she suspected he knew where it had come from.

Lyra found herself unexpectedly looking forward to the Hogsmead weekend approaching. Life in the castle was becoming intrinsically repetitive, and it was beginning to bore her. When the day finally came, she was almost excited. She chose a hooded cloak for her outing, not wanting to draw attention to herself when she finally reached her destination.

Filch waved Lyra through to Hogsmead with a grudging glare. Clearly he hadn't forgotten the Owlery incident. Lyra threw her hood over her head and made her way to her favourite place in Hogsmead – The Hog's Head. She was on good terms with the bar tender after she made a particularly annoying patron – Mundungus something or other, his name could have been – buy four pints of fire whiskey in the attempt to show her up in a drinking contest. She'd said something offensive, probably, but she couldn't quite place what it could have been. He timed how long it took him to drink all of the fiery alcohol, and by the end of it he was so drunk all Lyra had to do was help him to the door before he collapsed outside. The bar tender was just relieved to have him gone.

Lyra thought she might strike up a conversation with the man who always wore extravagant top hats if he was there. He was pompous and quite arrogant, but he at least had something interesting to say – most of the time. He had something against figures of authority, and Lyra found herself able to relate to him somewhat.

However Lyra was to be disappointed when she entered. The only people occupying the pub were Jack, a regular who looked like his dragons were giving him some trouble judging by the bandages all over his head, a couple of Yorkshire wizards gossiping in the corner who Lyra had never seen before, and the bar tender himself. She sighed and asked him for a Butterbeer, throwing the expected payment on the counter. Perhaps, she reasoned, someone mildly interesting would come in today. But she doubted it.

Taking a seat near the door but still in the corner of the room, Lyra found she didn't have to wait long before someone came in. It was a tall witch, robes brushing the never-swept floor and a thick veil obscuring her face. The witch took a place in the opposite corner to Lyra, much further away from the door.

Lyra got about halfway through her drink before something interesting actually _did_ happen.

"I don't know about this, Hermione."

To say she was surprised to see the Golden Trio in the Hog's Head would have been an understatement. She didn't make herself known, however, even when Harry failed to recognise her beneath her hood. She was quite content to just observe this unusual occurrence, at least until she knew exactly what was going on.

The three Gryffindors made their way over to the bar and Granger ordered them a Butterbeer each. Lyra watched them carefully as they took a seat on the other side of the entrance. They spoke in hushed tones, and Lyra couldn't make out much. At one point Granger said something that sounded like a reproving 'You – are – a – _prefect_.' They spoke for a moment longer when suddenly the door opened again, admitting a group of fifth and sixth years. It was a mixed bag; most were Gryffindor, but some were Ravenclaw as well.

More students piled in, most Lyra couldn't care to name. She did see the fiery red head from Defence Against the Dark Arts enter with a few of her friends. The Weasley twins brought up the rear of the group.

Lyra cast her eyes over to the bar tender. He looked just about ready to have a heart attack of shock. Lyra had to agree with him. People didn't come into the Hog's Head – not unless they were planning on doing something moderately illegal.

One of the Twins made his way over to the bar, counting on his way how many people were present. He settled for twenty-five, and the bar tender silently handed over his merchandise. The huge throng eventually settled around Harry and his two friends, every eye – except for one wistful blonde – on the notorious 'Boy-Who-Lived'. Granger stood, and the attention was drawn to her instead. Lyra smirked to herself. The Gryffindor was looking exceptionally self-conscious, but the look Harry threw her clearly said 'This was your idea'.

Grander began with an unconfident stutter, but as she continued to speak her voice strengthened – mostly, Lyra noticed, when she spoke of how inept a teacher Umbridge was. Lyra sat and listened to what the bushy haired girl had to say. It sounded like they were planning on starting up a 'club' to actually learn proper defence, instead of uselessly turning page after page of some Ministry-approved text book. Harry himself was going to be the teacher. However Lyra suspected it was much more than that. She had to admit, the very prominent rebellious streak in her was finding it hard to ignore Granger's words.

One kid stated that they were only putting this idea forward because the fifth years just wanted to pass their OWLs.

"Of course I do," Granger said without hesitation. "But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defence because... because..." she seemed to be struggling with her next words. "Because Lord Voldemort is back."

Lyra flinched. She wasn't sure if her reaction was due to the proper use of the Dark Lord's name or whether it was the confirmation that he was indeed back from the dead. There was not a doubt in Lyra's mind that he had returned. There was a slight uproar at the use of his name.

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" said a blonde Hufflepuff. Lyra rolled her eyes. Of course someone felt the need to challenge the sentiment.

An argument sprang up at that moment. Harry looked just about ready to throw himself across the table and strangle the Hufflepuff, and Lyra found it amusing that no one else seemed to be taking note of his very apparent fury. The argument escalated, and Granger was forced to attempt to regain control of the situation. Something Harry said must have quelled the Hufflepuff for the moment, for he sat fuming silently while Granger spoke.

The conversation took a turn and they began to discuss Harry's various feats, not to mention his clashes with the Dark Lord himself. Harry looked increasingly uncomfortable, attempting to convince everyone that he really wasn't as fantastic as they were painting him to be. Lyra found his modesty and denial mildly irritating; Lyra found modest people were usually just fishing for reaffirmation that they were better than everyone else. However as he kept talking, the Slytherin considered that maybe he genuinely thought he was simply the luckiest bloke alive, and none of his grand escapades had anything to do with skill. Of course, the Hufflepuff boy from before missed Harry's point entirely.

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" he said suspiciously. A few of the Weaselys immediately jumped to Harry's defence, one of the twins threatening to stick a pointy metal object anywhere the Hufflepuff preferred. Lyra coughed, hoping no one noticed she was using it as cover for a laugh at their antics.

By this point, Lyra had heard enough. It certainly wasn't a group of people she wanted to get to know any better, but their idea certainly had merit. She wasn't really sure what possessed her to act. Perhaps it was the idea of slighting Umbridge further, perhaps she just wanted to learn some defence. Or maybe there was another motive entirely that she couldn't identify.

Granger again regained hold of the conversation, and Lyra was itching to speak up.

"...are we agreed that we want to take lessons from Harry?"

"Well, that really depends, doesn't it?" the Slytherin girl interjected before anyone else could reply. All eyes turned to her in surprise, even Granger's. Lyra looked directly at Harry before she continued. "Is Harry willing to teach us?" She paused, looking at everyone else. "_All_ of us."

The group's reaction was instantaneous.

Some people were merely surprised to see her seated there. Others were outraged that a _Slytherin_ had infiltrated their private meeting. However none showed their fury as much as Chang did.

"Hermione, why in _Merlin's_ name did you invite _her_ to this?" Chang snarled, shooting Lyra a filthy look. Lyra just sat at her seat quietly, taking a casual sip from her Butterbeer as she watched in curiosity.

"I-I didn't!" Granger stuttered in denial. "Sh-she must have already been here."

"Well fantastic, now she's heard everything!" the disagreeable Hufflepuff said. "She'll probably go and report us now!"

Lyra rolled her eyes and placed her drink back down on the table top.

"Just in case you were under the impression I had vacated the premises, I _can_ still hear you." A couple of people shifted uncomfortably at her words. She stood, and it seemed like the tension in the room increased tenfold. "I'm not going to skip off to Umbridge and tattle about the secret little gathering you've got going on here." She stopped for a second, deciding how best to phrase what she was next about to say.

"Has it crossed your fickle minds that perhaps I simply wish to join whatever it is you seem to be doing here? I dislike Umbridge just as much as any of you," she said lightly. Someone scoffed. Or perhaps it was several people.

"As if a _Slytherin_ would actually think that!" challenged a Ravenclaw. Lyra's lips tightened at the emphasis they put on the word _Slytherin._ She was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her annoyance in check. She put her hand on the chair in front of her, the words scalped into the back of her hand catching her eye. She smiled as a thought came to her.

"Perhaps we should ask your fearless leader what he thinks on the matter?" Lyra suggested, shooting Harry a purposeful look. "Something tells me he will be able to vouch for my sincerity."

Harry shifted uncomfortably as all eyes fell upon him once again. He looked at Lyra expectantly, and she beckoned him over with a slight jerk of her head. He stood, looking at Granger and Weasley (the one in fifth year, not one of the other seven) before he came over to her table. Lyra turned her back slightly to everyone so that when she held up her right hand, it was obscured from everyone's view. Everyone except Harry's. His eyes widened when he saw it, but she didn't allow him time to read what was carved into her skin.

"I think we should just keep this between ourselves," Lyra muttered, motioning between the two of them with her left hand as she put her right in her pocket. Harry nodded, his expression something between satisfaction and disbelief.

Lyra stepped out of his way to allow him to walk back to his friends and tell them his verdict. Harry, however, did not take the hint. Or he ignored it. With a mischievous glint in his eye and a smile tugging at his lips, Harry placed a hand on either one of Lyra's shoulders, turned her around and, despite her silent protestations, steered her over to the table occupied by the rest of his friends. He very purposefully sat her down in the chair he had moments before, right between both Granger and Weasley. He pulled himself up a new chair and sat on her left. Lyra sat stock still, but she let her eyes roam the mistrusting expressions of just about everyone around her.

"Lyra as just as much right to be here as any of you," Harry said in an impressively commanding voice. "Anyone who disagrees with me is more than welcome to leave." His eyes flicked from face to face, challenging anyone to stand. He paused, letting his words sink in before he continued. "So what if she's in Slytherin, huh? _So what?_" The group remained silent, some looking down in slight shame. Harry seemed very on edge, his eyes daring someone, anyone, to disagree. The room was deathly silent, save for a rap of knuckles against wood as Jack ordered another round of whiskey. Harry straightened in his chair and looked at Granger.

"So, Hermione. Was there anything else...?"

Granger blinked several times before what he said registered with her. "Oh, um, yes, right." She took a moment to collect herself. "Well, now that we've got that sorted out, um, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week–"

"Hang on," interrupted a seventh year Gryffindor Lyra hadn't noticed until that moment, "we need to make sure this doesn't class with our Quidditch practice."

"No," said Chang, "nor with ours."

"Or ours," added the disagreeable Hufflepuff.

"Or mine," Lyra put in airily.

"You don't _play_ Quidditch," the Hufflepuff forced out through clenched teeth. Lyra looked at him.

"No, you're right, but I was feeling slightly left out."

She could have sworn she saw the Weasley twins smother snickers. The Hufflepuff just looked exceptionally infuriated.

"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," Granger quickly cut in, probably hoping to avoid another argument. "And the other thing we need to decide is where we're going to meet..."

The group fell silent for a moment, trying to think. Eventually someone suggested they might be able to use the Library, and another person put forward the idea of using an empty classroom. Lyra suspected that neither of those places would be a particularly good idea, considering the nature of what they were planning on doing. Granger appeared to share her sentiments.

"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," she said. "We'll send a message around to everyone once we've got a time and a place for the first meeting."

She turned and began to rifle through the contents of her bag for a moment, drawing out a quill and a piece of parchment. She hesitated, thinking carefully about her next actions. Lyra took careful note of that.

"I – I think everybody should write their names down, just so we know who was here." She placed the parchment at the centre of the table. "But also I think," she took a breath, "that we all ought to agree not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we're up to."

By the time Granger finished speaking, Lyra had already written her name. One of the twins took the parchment just moments after she had finished and signed it cheerfully before passing it to his other half. Most other people, Lyra noticed, were far more apprehensive about adding their own names to the list. Many people shot Lyra suspicious looks.

"Er..." said the annoying Hufflepuff as the second twin tried to hand him the parchment, "well... I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is."

However the other Hufflepuff he motioned to as he spoke looked just as hesitant about signing. Granger gave him a meaningful look.

"I – well, we are _prefects_," the new Hufflepuff – Ernie – immediately tried to reason. "And if this list was found... well, I mean to say... you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out–"

"Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?" Granger said testily.

Ernie looked at her for a moment, but her intense glare quelled any further protestations he may have had.

"No. No, of course not. I – yes, of course I'll sign."

The piece of parchment circled the group without any further objections. Chang took the quill immediately and began to write her name. She paused halfway through, however, as her eyes darted to the name at the top of the list. With gritted teeth she finished writing her name, forcefully handing it to her friend who looked doubly reluctant to put her name down. When the final person signed – disagreeable Hufflepuff – Granger took the parchment back and slipped it into her bag, along with the quill. A strange lull fell over the group, almost as though they had signed some kind of contract. Eventually one of the Weasley twins declared they had some shopping they needed to do, and in small groups everyone departed the small pub. Chang seemed as though she wanted to loiter, however a look cast in Lyra's direction made her leave in a huff.

At last, all that was left was the Golden Trio and Lyra herself. Carefully, she turned in her seat to look directly at Harry. She narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Why'd you do that?"

Harry responded with a quizzical expression. "Do what?"

"Just now, in front of all your devote followers. Standing up for a Slytherin such as myself. It'll lose you friends if you keep that up, you know."

Harry smiled. "I don't think it'll do any harm; considering my current reputation for being a mad, impulsive liar."

Lyra smiled and nodded. She stood, casting a quick glance around the pub as she straightened her robes.

"Take care, Harry."

She left without another backwards glance.

"Ah, Harry, no offense, but... what the Hell was that about?" Ron questioned as they left the dingy little pub. "_Lyra White?_ If you wanted to make a point about not hating Slytherins so much, _Malfoy_ would have been a better choice."

"What do you mean?" Harry questioned as he and Ron followed Hermione to a store specialising in quills.

"Ginny's told me about her before. I mean, yeah, she hates Umbridge, but in this case, I don't think the enemy of our enemy is our friend."

"Ron, I really think you're overreacting about this," Harry said, his brow furrowed. He didn't really know anything about the Slytherin girl. He'd only spoken to her twice before. But what she'd said in the Owlery to Cho had really gotten to him. The prejudice the rest of the school had against Slytherins was almost the same prejudice Death Eaters had against Muggle-borns. He hoped he hadn't made a terrible decision by allowing her to join their defence group, but his conscious could hardly have allowed him not to, not if he didn't want the label of 'hypocrite' following him wherever he went.

"I think you're right, Harry," Hermione informed them as she paused by a shop window to examine its merchandise. "Really, I think the whole thing went quite well. I'm sure everyone will warm up to... Lyra, was it...?"

Lyra walked back to the castle alone, just as she had walked from it, her mind reeling. She wasn't quite sure what she thought of the confrontation in The Hog's Head.

She sighed. It was done now. She supposed she'd just have to let happen what may happen. And, if she didn't like it, she could always do what she usually did. Make it hilarious.

...For her...


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_Being nice is ever so old-fashioned_

Monday brought a distasteful grimace to Lyra's face when she entered the Slytherin common room.

"'All student organisations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded'. Gah, that's going to be really annoying," said a sixth year as he read aloud a sign fixed to the noticeboard to his friend. "Man, being expelled for having one without permission, that's pretty rough. 'Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor.'"

"Yeah, good thing she's on our side. She'll let us Slytherins have any club we want," replied his friend, and they shared a smirk as they moved on for breakfast. Lyra walked over to the sign, her eyes flashing over it as she read. She knew this kind of sudden rule meant only two things.

Firstly, it meant Umbridge knew about the club Harry – well, his friends – were planning to form.

Second, it meant things were certainly going to get interesting around Hogwarts finally. And by interesting, Lyra really meant potentially exciting.

Unfortunately, the sudden announcement would also mean a third thing, which Lyra found out as she entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

"I knew it, I _knew_ you were going to tell her!"

"I can't believe Harry let you join up, now it's never going to happen!"

"This is all your fault! How could you tell her? Harry said you hated her!"

Lyra found herself practically pinned to the wall as Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws alike bombarded her with accusations. She kept up a bored exterior, however inside she was berating herself for not seeing it. Of course, they weren't _all_ idiots. They would have realised that Umbridge knew what they were planning just as she had. And how had Umbridge come to such a revelation? Someone told her. But who?

Well, let's just blame it on the scapegoat – and who could possibly be a better scapegoat than the only a hundred and ten percent guaranteed liar present.

Lyra blinked slightly, coming back to the present as she realised the barrage of allegations had stopped. Apparently, this break was just to allow everyone to take a breath before continuing with their onslaught.

Lyra remained silent throughout the one-sided exchange. She didn't challenge anything they said or tell them she didn't tell Umbridge. She just stood there, disinterested expression plastered across her face as she waited for them to finish.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were greeted with an unusual amount of activity as they entered the Great Hall. Clearly everyone had heard about Umbridge's new rule. Harry was just about to take his usual seat at the Gryffindor table when a sight near one of the walls caught his eye. He narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to figure out what was going on. A cluster of people – all from the meeting in The Hog's Head – seemed to be standing around something, talking animatedly.

Hermione followed his gaze and gave an exasperated sigh.

"Honestly, could they be any more obvious?"

She stood and began to approach them, Harry following after her. When he drew nearer, he discovered the reason for their behaviour.

"Hermione! Harry!" cried Zacharias Smith, the Hufflepuff who always felt the need to challenge everything Harry said. "White told Umbridge about our defence club thing! I told you she couldn't be trusted!"

The rest of the group present nodded and murmured in agreement. Hermione shot Lyra a single look and scowled, not at her but at everyone else.

"Of course Lyra didn't tell Umbridge. She found out some other way."

As everyone voiced their protestations to Hermione, Harry snuck a look at Lyra herself. The Slytherin didn't seem remotely fazed by the entire fiasco. On the contrary, she seemed exceptionally bored.

"How do you know? Are you just going to take her word for it?" Smith, of course.

"And what word would that be, precisely? I don't believe you've allowed me a second to breathe, let alone voice any thoughts I may have on the matter."

Everyone stopped their arguing and looked at her, almost surprised to actually find a person occupying the space they had been yelling at. The surprised silence lasted for barely a moment.

"Well?" Terry Boot asked expectantly. "What do you want to say?"

"Oh I didn't want to say anything," Lyra responded as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I was simply making a point. Carry on, carry on." She motioned for them all to continue speaking, however the discussion seemed to have fizzled to a stop at her words.

"Ever the conversation killer, aren't I?" she said airily. Everyone present paused for a moment, before finally someone spoke up again.

"So... we're still going ahead with this, right? Even though it's really obvious we shouldn't?" said a Hufflepuff whose name eluded Harry.

"Of course. No question about that," Hermione replied immediately. "Now, really, everyone, you have to go. This gathering looks suspicious enough, we don't need to hang around any longer."

Granger had just enough of a commanding air to head everyone off. Every now and then, Lyra would catch the accusatory glare of someone as they walked away. Eventually, the only people left besides Lyra herself were Granger and Harry. She sighed, mildly annoyed that she'd had to waste her morning pretending to listen to quaint accusations of her fellow students. She turned to make her way out of the Great Hall. She wasn't all that hungry anyway.

"Come on, Harry. We haven't got much longer before class now," Hermione warned, tugging on his sleeve to pull him towards the Gryffindor table.

"Uh, yeah, I'll be right there," Harry said absently, watching as Lyra began to stride away. He threw Hermione a quick glance. "Give me a second."

Hermione nodded knowingly, though Harry wasn't quite sure why. He had to half jog in order to catch up to Lyra, who was already out the door. She could certainly move when she wanted to.

"L-Lyra!" he called, hoping to stop her. To his surprise, she did.

Lyra turned, slightly curious as to why Harry had followed her from the Great Hall. She just looked at him, waiting for him to continue. Harry stopped his jogging pursuit over a metre from her.

"Well, I, uh, I just wanted to, you know..."

Lyra's lips quirked up in a smile. "Are you usually this ineloquent with everyone you meet?" she teased, though not unkindly. Harry returned her smile.

"That depends, I guess. Are you usually this civil with everyone you meet?"

Lyra was taken aback by Harry's quip, but not annoyed. On the contrary, she was exceptionally pleased.

"Touché, Harry. Didn't realise you had a sense of humour."

"Not much for me to joke about these days," Harry returned, but his light tone had turned somewhat sad. Lyra wasn't put out, however.

"Ah, you just need a new perspective on things. One can make just about anything funny. Problem is, other people tend to think you're being 'insensitive'."

Harry's smile was back at her words. "I never would have guessed." He paused for a moment, clearly put at ease by the casual banter. "Look, I just wanted to say sorry for everyone this morning. They shouldn't have..."

Lyra held up her hand to silence him.

"Don't apologise for them, Harry, unless you're apologising for letting me join in the first place. I knew this was going to happen."

"You knew?" Harry asked, his naivety shining through. If it had been anyone else, Lyra would have rolled her eyes. Wait... why _wasn't_ she rolling her eyes?

"My comments about everyone being a little bit racist, or rather, housist, weren't unfounded, you know." Her voice was even, but in her head Lyra was berating herself. Where were her customarily scathing remarks, her patronising tone?

She wouldn't describe it as a little voice in the back of her head – Lyra had never warmed to the idea of schizophrenia – but there was definitely _something_ giving her a perfectly sound reason for her atypical behaviour.

_He's being nice to you. People are _never_ nice to you. You don't know how to react..._

The moment this realisation hit Lyra, she became mildly more apprehensive about continuing the conversation.

"I have to go, Harry. Late for class, and all that," she said quicker than she would have liked.

"Oh, right yeah. I should probably go too. Breakfast."

Lyra nodded and turned away from him. She gave herself a mental kick, an unfamiliar yet unmistakable swooping in her stomach taking hold as she saw, just from the corner of her eye, Harry's expression.

He seemed genuinely disappointed to watch her go.

Umbridge made a point of ignoring Lyra in any way she could as the Slytherin fourth year took her usual seat at the edge of the classroom. Umbridge gave the class its instructions – reading – and resumed her own work at her desk. Lyra watched as the class dolefully obeyed. They, like Umbridge, had grown accustomed to Lyra's silence in most recent lessons. She leaned back into her chair, a contemplative look on her face as she scanned the classroom, unopened book lying face down on her desk. She had come to the definite decision that an incognito approach to wrecking havoc with Umbridge was a safer approach than her previous method. Obviously, Umbridge would figure out it was her in a heartbeat – the woman seemed grand at jumping to conclusions – however Lyra would guarantee the absence of any real evidence tying her to the offenses.

She just had to come up with a plan of some description now...

"Professor?"

Umbridge, very reluctantly, looked up from her work.

"Yes, Miss White?" she said, her tone evenly sweet.

Lyra smiled at her.

"May I go to the bathroom?"

The request seemed innocent enough, so Umbridge found no reason to deny her. Lyra rose from her seat, a few hopeful classmates watching her, in case she did something to set Umbridge off again, but they were to be disappointed. Without another word, Lyra strolled straight out the door.

Ten minutes later, Lyra returned to her seat, Umbridge casting her a suspicious look. The woman truly was paranoid. Although, Lyra admitted, thinking back on her time spent outside the classroom, it wasn't really paranoia if they were _right_.

It had taken the entirety of Lyra's ten minutes to set up the current scenario. In the hall outside the classroom, ten metres from the door, sat a proud statue depicting the very lion said to be Godric Gryffindor's inspiration for founding the red and gold house. Lyra had looked at it and been inspired herself. She had cast a thin silencing charm around herself – she still needed some practice in that area – and began levitating the statue towards the DADA classroom. It had taken her so long because every few centimetres she was forced to duck behind the statue and drop it as a teacher or prefect walked past. Eventually she had managed to place it at the optimal position across from Umbridge's classroom door. Satisfied, she had re-entered the classroom, leaving the door open a-jar.

Lyra's next challenge was attempting wordless magic. It wasn't difficult in theory – of course, theory and practice had an annoying habit of being completely independent of one another. She couldn't try whispering the incantation. Umbridge could somehow hear the passing of a note, let alone a muttered word.

On the pretence of propping her textbook open against her bag, Lyra managed to obscure Umbridge's vision of her table while still giving herself a clear shot through the door. Silently pulling her wand from her robes, Lyra began to chant the spell in her head like a mantra, jabbing her wand in the direction of the statue.

By the end of the lesson, Lyra had not only failed at her wordless magic, but also managed to give herself a headache from attempting to concentrate so hard.

She wasn't annoyed. She hadn't expected to succeed on her first attempt. Anyway, there were many more Defence lessons in store she could practice in. She could be surprisingly patient when she wanted to be. Besides, the suspense would surely be killing Umbridge.

The next day, as Lyra continued in her apparently vain attempt to undermine Umbridge using only her wand, intellect, and a stubborn statue, she was rudely interrupted by a piece of scrunched up parchment colliding with her hand. Lyra looked for the source of said parchment and found the rather conspicuous culprit of Ginny Weasley as she watched Umbridge carefully.

Lyra unfolded the parchment. It read simply: _Need to talk after class. G.W. _

Lyra simply returned to her charm work.

When class ended, Lyra saddled up alongside the fiery redhead nonchalantly.

"You wish to have a word?"

Weasley nodded.

"A message from Harry. Our first meeting for, uh, _our little group_, will be the seventh floor corridor, in front of that painting of Barnaby the Barmy trying to teach trolls the ballet." Weasley gave specific instructions, a time and date, and then turned to leave.

"I'm surprised you actually told me about this. Most people would have just 'forgotten' and hope I didn't find out about it some other way."

Weasley stopped at her words and turned back around.

"Harry trusts you." She shrugged. "That's good enough for me."

She departed.

Lyra watched her go. Harry trusted her. It was a strange thing, trust. So... fickle.

Lyra didn't know what to make of the red head's words. She merely filed the thought away for a later date. Besides, she had more immediate concerns. She had a defence class to prepare for.

Eight o'clock rolled around on the night of the first big meeting. Lyra left her homework on her bed and proceeded to the seventh floor as instructed. She walked the length of wall Weasley had told her about three times, thinking hard about what she wanted. She was genuinely surprised to see a door appear seemingly out of nowhere upon her third stretch, and with a pleased smile she pulled open the door. It was clear when she walked in that she was the last one there. Every head in the room swivelled in place to watch her enter. She said nothing as she crossed the floor to lean against a wall, as every cushion the room supplied had already been taken. Harry gave her a quick nod as she took her place. It was clear she had entered halfway through his address of the group, and several of its members were none too pleased about this – Chang among them.

"Ah, right, as I was saying, I've been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do and – er –" Harry cut off as Granger stuck her hand in the air. "What, Hermione?"

"I think we ought to elect a leader," she said.

"Harry's leader," Chang said immediately, shooting Lyra a dirty look as though to silence any protestations the Slytherin may have had.

"Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly," Granger insisted. "It makes it formal and gives him authority. So – everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?"

Lyra lazily stuck her hand in the air, along with every other person present. She looked up at Harry, whose face was going red and was clearly very uncomfortable.

"Er – right, thanks. And – _what_, Hermione?"

"I also think we ought to have a name," she continued. "It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"

Many names were thrown about, some serious, others completely senile. Finally, someone – Weasley in fourth year – came up with a name that seemed to go over well with everyone else.

"Dumbledore's Army, because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?"

Granger put it to a vote. "All in favour of the DA?"

Lyra didn't raise her hand.

"That's a majority – motion passed!"

With that said, Granger pulled out the parchment that held everyone's names and scrawled across the top the new name: _Dumbledore's Army_.

"Right," Harry said, trying to gain control of the group again. "shall we start practicing?"

It was decided that everyone should first attempt to master the Disarming Charm, much to some people's annoyance. Everyone paired off, or was put into a group. Everyone except Lyra, of course. She stayed put, people walking past her pretending not to see she was partnerless.

She observed the others for a while, wincing inwardly at the abysmal results some were getting at a simple Disarming Charm. Eventually, someone noticed she wasn't practicing.

"Lyra? Why aren't you practicing?" said Harry, who had taken to patrolling the pairs and correcting each person where they needed it. Lyra just looked at him.

"Haven't got a partner. No one wants to be in a duel with a deceitful, cunning Slytherin." She spoke without malice, but the words themselves were cutting enough. She saw some people shift and look away. Harry, however, seemed to come to a decision.

"Alright then. You can duel with me." He purposefully rolled up his sleeves and took his position opposite her. It took Lyra a moment to realise what he was doing. She pulled her wand from inside her robes and stepped away from the wall, holding her wand aloft in her left hand. Every other group had stopped their practice at this point. Every eye was on the Gryffindor and the Slytherin.

"On my count," Harry told her, and she nodded. "Ready? One, two, three."

"_Candeo!_"

Harry yelped in surprise as a tiny electric spark jolted his arm, forcing him to drop his wand. The room gasped as one, waiting for their leader's response to such obvious insubordination.

"We were _supposed_ to be practicing the Disarming Charm," Harry said, though he did not seem to be upset.

Lyra chanced a smile. "You're Disarmed, are you not?" She motioned to his fallen wand. Harry looked down at it before he shrugged and picked it up.

"Yes. I suppose I was." He looked up slyly. "_Expelliarmus!_"

Lyra's wand flew straight from her hand, landing with a clatter against the wall behind her. She grinned.

"Now we're even," Harry told her. He went to put his wand away, seeming to only then realise that every other person in the room was watching them intently. "What's everyone looking at? C'mon! Practice!"

Everyone moved to comply immediately.

"Ah, actually, Harry, look at the time," Granger said. Harry checked his watch.

With the blow of a whistle he somehow procured, Harry managed to call everyone to a stop.

"Well, that was pretty good," he told the listening group, "but we've overrun."

After a quick discussion about the next time to meet, which Lyra only vaguely paid attention to, everyone began to file out, according to a piece of parchment in Harry's hand. It appeared to be a map of some sort. Eventually, everyone had left apart from the Golden Trio and Lyra herself, who was busy examining the gadgets and books near the back of the room.

"Go on ahead, I'll catch up," Harry told his two friends, who seemed reluctant to leave. He approached Lyra carefully. "You alright? It's pretty late. You might want to get back to your dormitory."

Lyra absently examined a book. "Oh, I'm quite used to being out late at night. The teachers are used to it by now too, I might add."

Harry smiled. "Well, the Slytherin common room is the furthest from here, and you're by yourself walking back..." he left the offer hanging. Lyra smiled.

"Thank you for the chivalry, Harry, but really, I can make my own way back to the common room. You should catch up to your friends."

Harry just nodded and walked towards the door.

"See you Wednesday?"

Lyra nodded. "Wednesday."

He smiled, and left.

When Lyra finally left the Room of Requirement, as it was called, the hallways were very dark and empty.

With nothing but the echo of her own footsteps for company, Lyra found herself wishing – and scolding herself for wishing – that she had taken up Harry's offer.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Dumbledore's_ Army? I think not... _

Tuesday rolled by without event in Lyra's world. Oh, she'd had homework to do and classes to attend, but noteworthy they were not. Finally Wednesday came and she found that for the first time in a long time she had actually _anticipated_ the day.

As with their last meeting, Lyra was the last to turn up. Despite her previous display with Harry, the overall mood toward her had not really shifted one way or the other. She did note, to her surprise, both of the Weasley twins giving her slight nods in greeting as she entered, just as Chang and her friend shot her scalding glares. From the shouted _Expelliarmus!_ that littered the room, she assumed they were still polishing their Disarming spell. She gave the room a brief peruse, pausing in her appraisal as she noted Harry leading over a nervous, bouncy Gryffindor.

"Lyra! I'm glad you could make it!" Harry greeted her, and by his tone he did seem genuinely pleased. "Can you practice with Neville for a bit? I just want to check how everyone's doing, see if we can move on just yet."

Lyra gave an affirmative nod and Harry turned back to the other duelling pairs. She moved her gaze to the tall, dark haired Gryffindor, who still seemed very nervous. He open and closed his mouth several times as she looked at him, as though trying to find the right thing to say.

"Uh, hi, I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom." He stuck out his hand, but withdrew it quickly before Lyra could even contemplate shaking it. "But, ah, Harry already said that. N-never mind."

Lyra was about to respond, perhaps to assure him that his introduction was not ill received, but she stopped. What he had actually said had taken a moment to sink in, and when it had, Lyra could swear she felt her blood run cold.

"Let's just do this," she said, her tone far colder than perhaps she had intended. Longbottom looked quite taken aback, his head immediately drooping gloomily. Lyra spun on the ball of her foot, refusing to look the taller boy in the eye as she turned back to him, drawing her wand.

To say her heart wasn't in the duel was an understatement. She kept her expression impassive, her wand gripped loosely in her hand as she blocked Neville's often feeble attempts to disarm her. She did not go on the offensive. She didn't have it in her.

Harry eventually returned half an hour later to find the two barely sparring. He stepped quickly up to Neville, who seemed more than relieved to return to duelling with Ron and Hermione. With one last, confused glance at the still stoic Slytherin, he turned and pulled his lanky frame towards his fellow Gryffindors.

The moment Longbottom was no longer in her sights, Lyra felt herself visibly relax. Her shoulders dropped and her breathing became deeper as she forced herself to calm down. It was nothing. She had always known it would happen. She'd always known...

"Don't you like Neville?" Harry asked quietly, cutting sharply across her thoughts. She came to stand next to him as he pretended to scan the other pairs.

"If only it could be that simple," she replied, her eyes following his. She could feel him turn to look at her, but she refused to meet his eye.

"What do you mean?"

She shook her head, her eyes flicking to his.

"That's a story that could span all the way until tomorrow morning." She looked purposefully away. "And it's not one I'm going to share with you tonight, Harry."

She expected him to press her for more information, or at the very least be annoyed with her. Instead, he sighed and after a short silence, opted to change the subject.

"I noticed you didn't vote for 'Dumbledore's Army' as our group's name," he said amiably.

She gave a short laugh. "Indeed not. Our dear Headmaster and I don't exactly see eye to eye – more so than the other teachers, I mean."

Harry seemed slightly surprised.

"Really? I figured it was the 'Army' part of the name you didn't like. You don't seem like the type to follow orders."

Lyra eyed him carefully, the corners of her lips turning up ever so slightly.

"Depends who's giving them."

Harry looked back at the other members of the DA, as they had been dubbed, and she was sure he was trying his very best to conceal a pleased smile.

As the night progressed, Harry called everyone to order and began to show them slightly more offensive spells. For some reason, most managed to master these spells much faster than the Disarming Charm, and by the time Harry decided to call it a night nearly half the group had at least one offensive spell they could spit out with success.

Again, Lyra lingered in the room. She had contemplated returning there before the meeting was due to scour the books for anything she didn't already know, but she had decided against it in case a fellow member had the same idea – she didn't want the confrontation. So instead, she waited for everyone else to file out, leaving her the room until the wee hours of the morning in which she snuck back to her dormitory.

She couldn't help but notice, however, that just as she stayed back, so did a certain raven haired Gryffindor, motioning to his friends to continue on without him. Weasley seemed ready to kick up a fuss, but with a severe scolding from Granger he left without further complaint.

"Harry, you really shouldn't concern yourself with me," Lyra told him as she pulled a book from its shelf that had potential.

"Concerned? I'm not concerned," Harry said quickly, eyes following her closely. "I just..." he paused, choosing his words with care. "If you want company, you know..."

Lyra wasn't sure how to respond to that. Did she want Harry's company? She would be lying to herself if she said she didn't, and for some reason that annoyed her. A large part of her was tempted to tell him to turn around and follow his besotted friends – for it was clearly obvious – but she held herself back.

"Are you offering your company from the doorway, then? Or are you planning upon coming in?" she said with a slight smile. Harry returned the gesture, closing the door behind him as he re-entered fully.

"So what exactly are you doing?" he queried as they each sat in their own chair.

"Reading. This room is better than the library," Lyra replied honestly. "Besides, there is always the trouble of other people in the library. Here, I don't have to worry about that."

Harry frowned. "Oh." He seemed about to leave, as though he were taking a hint from Lyra. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, come now, Harry. _You_ are hardly _people_."

His frown turned to confusion. "Oh. Then what _am_ I?"

She cocked her head to the side, evaluating him critically. "Honestly, I'm not quite sure. I'll have to get back to you on that one."

Harry laughed, shaking his head slightly. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, Harry examining his hands as Lyra absently stroked the cover of her selected book. A thought appeared to strike Harry then, and by the downturn of his mouth, Lyra suspected it was not something she would like.

"Lyra..." He took in a deep breath to steady himself. "Lyra, are we friends?"

Her hand ceased its movements across the front of her book immediately. She looked up, catching his eye.

"I don't know, Harry. I think you're the only one who can answer that."

"What do you mean?"

Lyra leaned back into her chair, allowing the movement to give herself time to think.

"I've never had a friendship before. I don't really have anything to compare this –" she motioned between them "– to." She gave him a purposefully look. "So are we friends, Harry?"

He returned her gaze for a moment, but he couldn't stop the smile that broke out across his face.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah, we're friends."

Lyra gave him a thoughtful nod and looked at his watch.

"It's getting late, Harry," she said slowly. "You might want to give sleep some due consideration."

He too looked down at his watch and nodded. "Yeah, I guess I should."

He stood, giving his arms a slight stretch. Lyra didn't stand of course, but he hadn't really expected her to.

"I'll see you around?" He had meant to sound nonchalant, but it had come out as more of a hopeful inquiry.

"Only if you keep your eyes open," Lyra replied, adopting the exact tone he had failed to achieve. The effect was slightly ruined however, when she shot him a small, teasing smile.

He couldn't help but grin as he finally forced himself to leave her alone in the Room of Requirement.

Several DA meetings later, Granger figured out a way for everyone to know the time and date of the next meeting without relying on word of mouth. If Lyra was honest, it was truly an ingenious idea. Each member was given a Galleon coin with numbers ringed around the edge that would indicate the time and date of their next assembly. All Harry needed to do was change his own and the others would mimic his. Of course, that was all well and good until the brunette witch told them they would grow warm to let their owners know they'd been changed. A thought occurred to the Slytherin fourth year then, one that was voice by Harry almost immediately.

"These remind me of the Death Eater's scars."

Lyra wholeheartedly agreed, and perhaps at another time she would have admired the sophisticated spell work. Right then, all she could do was stare at the coin, a distasteful grimace curling her upper lip.

The meetings themselves were becoming more engaging now, at least. They still had yet to come across anything she had not already taught herself, but they were certainly making progress. And Lyra liked having things to do on her Friday, Thursday, Sunday... whatever night they happened to have their meetings on.

However as October gave way to November, meetings were cancelled in favour of Quidditch practice for the Gryffindor team, leaving Lyra slightly annoyed and with evenings to fill. She often still went to the room, simply by herself, and practiced. She had nothing better to do – she could hardly fill her evenings with pointless homework, especially since she did most of it during class anyway.

The night before the big match – Slytherin versus Gryffindor – she found herself in her own common room earlier than she would have liked. But she was tired, and turning in before her fellow dorm members seemed a very enticing idea.

"_Weasley is our King..."_

When she entered she was met by a chorus of singers, each trying their very best not to burst into fits of raucous laughter as they belted out the lyrics. Draco sat in a nearby armchair, eyes filled with glee as he watched his fellow housemates.

"_He always lets the Quaffle in..."_

"I take it that this is your doing?"

Draco tore his eyes away from the spectacle to find Lyra standing behind him, disinterested expression plastered across her face.

"Isn't it brilliant? That filthy blood traitor won't be able to stare straight ahead let alone catch anything tomorrow," Draco sneered. Lyra let out a scornful snort.

"Draco, you bare the marks of a true Slytherin – Salazar forbid you leave anything up to chance or skill."

Draco smirked at the backhanded compliment, but Lyra could tell he was irked. She was in the mood to rile someone up that evening, so she continued on.

"I suppose it's a good thing you've done this, though. The Chasers will need all the help they can get, and since _you_ certainly won't be giving it..."

She saw his composure leave him momentarily.

"What, you think that fucking Pot-Head is a better Seeker than me?" he demanded harshly. Lyra laughed.

"I'm certainly not going to lie to preserve your precious ego, Draco. And that's _my _mark of a true Slytherin."

Without another word, Lyra strode away, leaving a silently fuming blonde. As she climbed the stairs to her dormitory, she could swear – if she swore – that she heard Draco yell in a huff 'What rhymes with "colossal waste of space"?'

If someone had asked Lyra what house she was hoping would win the Quidditch match that morning, she would have unreservedly replied Slytherin. Of course, no one actually _did_ ask, and just as well – if she were honest, she couldn't really bring herself to care about the match. She wouldn't go watch the match. No doubt she would find out the result in passing. Instead, she thought she might visit McGonagall's classroom, as there was almost a hundred percent guarantee no one would bother her.

So as everyone filed outside to the huge field by the edge of the castle grounds, Lyra stole her lonely way down the halls to her favoured classroom, carefully closing the door behind her as she did. She had not played her harp in what felt like months, what with all of the unusual happenings over the beginning of the year. She felt incredibly more relaxed as she pulled her small pendant off the thin chain around her neck, her fingertips stroking the soft metal. A tap of her wand later she was gliding her trained digits across the strings, watching the light from the window behind her glance off the ring Dustin had given her. The small emerald made the light dance, and every now and then Lyra found herself skipping a note of her song just so she could watch it.

She did not know how long it was before she was interrupted, but she did know it was inevitable that she would be.

The sound of scuffed footsteps flowed under the door to her classroom to greet her and she quickly replaced her harp upon its chain. She heard the sound of someone moaning loudly, though she could tell they were accompanied by more than one person.

"Oh stop complaining, Draco. This is your own fault."

Without a doubt, that voice belonged to the haughty Slytherin Head of House. Curious, though she tried to hide it, Lyra quickly stepped over to the door and stuck her head outside. She only managed to catch the sight of Snape's long black robes fly around the corner in the direction of the Hospital Wing. She would have merely shrugged the occurrence off had she not stepped forward and almost slipped over in what was apparently several drops of crimson blood. With a sigh and an eye roll, Lyra quickly made to follow her Professor and wounded fellow Slytherin.

By the time Lyra stepped into the Hospital Wing, Madam Pompfrey was already forcing a chilled potion down the resisting Draco's throat and Snape was sweeping toward her. When he caught her eye, he paused slightly.

"I would ask you to talk some sense into young Mister Malfoy, Miss White," Snape said coldly. "But you are just as bad as he is."

"I'm offended by that, Sir," Lyra replied candidly. "I'm far more sophisticated than Draco." Snape's lip curled, though whether in amusement or agitation she could not hope to fathom. Without another word, the dark Professor swept out of the room, leaving Lyra to walk over to the bed Draco currently occupied.

"Weasley beat you up, didn't he?" Lyra said, a hint of mirth in her tone as she sat down next to him. He opened his eye, surprised to find her sitting there.

"It was by Pot-Head and one of the Weasel-doppelgangers, actually," he replied as he settled smugly into the pillow. "I reckon Umbridge will boot them off the team."

As Lyra examined him, she noted his ruffled hair and blood streaked robes. She suspected his nose had been broken, and by the grimace he tried to smother as he shifted suggested he may have had a cracked rib or two as well. It appeared Harry had hit him good.

"So why are you even here?" Draco queried. "No one else is. And how'd you even know? You don't come to Quidditch matches."

She was mildly surprised he knew she didn't watch the sporting spectacle, but she didn't show it.

"I could hardly resist the opportunity to gloat over _your_ broken form, Draco," Lyra answered pleasantly. He snickered.

"Oh please, Lyra. That is _so_ not your style."

Lyra nodded in concession. "Indeed not..."

Silence stretched between the two Slytherins, broken only when Draco let out a muffled hiss of pain as his ribs snapped back into place.

"I wish I could say that this will teach you not to provoke Gryffindors in the future," Lyra said, eying him carefully. "But I know it won't. If anything, the only thing this has taught you is that you can get away with anything as long as there aren't any _physical_ marks to show for it."

"Come now, Lyra," Draco replied, his expression one of feigned exasperation. "I learnt that _years_ ago – how do you think I've gotten away with all that I have?"

Lyra laughed, for it was true. She looked at Draco's watch.

"Ah. I think we've reached a new record for a conversation that doesn't involve slinging barbs at one another."

"Mmm, I find slinging barbs at idiotic Gryffindors instead is a fine way to bring me closer to my fellow Slytherin."

"Well then, I had best leave you be before you get bored of that and decide you want some competition."

Draco smirked as she stood. "I could never really get bored of degrading a Gryffindor."

Lyra paused at the door. "You know what Draco? I wholly and utterly believe you."

With that, the fourth year Slytherin swept out of the room.

As November began to pass by, Lyra found herself in a bitter mood. Actually, everyone else was just so much _cheerier _in comparison; it seemed that Lyra's spirits had dipped, when in reality they remained unchanged. December was fast approaching, and with it Christmas jubilation. Lyra couldn't really understand the hype of it all. Besides, it was originally a Muggle celebration.

For some reason, Lyra felt the urge to beat the crowd to the final DA meeting before the Christmas break, so almost five minutes before they were designated to turn up she pushed open the door to the Room of Requirement.

What she saw almost made her burst out laughing.

Harry was already there, struggling to remove several dozen baubles featuring his head with the words 'Have a Harry Christmas' printed across each one.

"Ever the egotist, aren't we?" Lyra said in thorough amusement as he pulled each one down by hand. He jumped slightly, but realising who it was his features broke out into a grin.

"Dobby the House elf," he muttered by way of explanation for the themed decorations. "couldn't give me a hand with this, could you?"

Lyra withdrew her wand and with a casual flick all the offending decorations fell to the floor. With a second sweep, they clustered themselves in the corner conspicuously. Harry looked at her handiwork.

"People can still see them, you know," he challenged with a smile. Lyra took him up on it, and with a muttered spell she turned one of the cushions they practiced Stunning with and Transfigured it into a thin, wide blanket. The blanket fell neatly over the pile of baubles, obscuring them from view.

"Surely you could have just Vanished the pile," Harry said, though he made no move to take his own advice.

Lyra shrugged. "I could have. But where's the imagination in that? This way we now have a wonderfully aesthetic... clump... in the corner of the room."

Harry laughed, and just as he did the door opened, admitting three members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Each one shot Harry a dirty look, and one even shared a glare with Lyra. The Slytherin assumed this was purely because of her House and the fact it had been against them that Harry had lost his position as seeker. They traded a few words, but eventually the other DA members entered and their conversation was cut short.

"Alright, since we're going on a three week break and this is our last meeting until we come back, I figured it would be kinda pointless to start on anything new," Harry addressed the group. "Besides, a recap on what we've done should help in the long run."

Smith, the Disagreeable Hufflepuff made slight protestations to this – surprise surprise – but eventually everyone was paired off. Excluding Lyra. Even after all these meetings, no one offered her a partnership. She was not overly bothered by this, but it was still slightly off-putting. When it came time to practicing Stunning, she was always volunteered to be the Stunnee, not Stunner. She got hit a good few times as well, once even by Neville, though he was not technically aiming for her.

When the evening ended, everyone was in high spirits. Most were looking forward to visiting their families and trading hopes about what presents they were likely to receive. Lyra, as was customary at this stage, retreated to the back wall and scoured the shelves. Harry stayed back as well, as he had grown accustomed to doing as well. However they were not the only dawdlers that evening.

Though she tried not to eavesdrop – honestly – Lyra could not help but overhear the sobs of Chang, who stood pouring her heart out to Harry, completely oblivious to the fact that the Slytherin girl stood not three metres behind her, obscured by rows of books. She spoke of Diggory, and Lyra was tempted to come to Harry's aid as she had reason to suspect the subject of the boy he had watched die would probably not be one he would wish to discuss in such a manner. However when she poked her head around the shelves, she discovered he was certainly not in any need of her assistance.

Harry could scarcely believe it: Cho was kissing him. He was so taken aback, he didn't know what to do. Before he could respond, however, he saw from the corner of his eye a very familiar form step around them and make its way towards the door. His brain finally caught up to what was happening and he broke the kiss with Cho, though the Ravenclaw girl did not seem crushed. Clearly the kiss had been longer than he realised. He turned, ready to call out to Lyra, but she was already gone.

Lyra stalked – for there was no other word for her perturbed gait – away from the Room of Requirement. She decided then and there that her opinion about Christmas had significantly changed. She used to hold a callous disregard for the holiday, a stoic indifference. However this was no longer the case. Now Christmas, like the majority of the days of the year, really, _really_ pissed her off.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_But it's more fun to be Insolent _

The last day of term brought a cyclone of whispers to the occupants of Hogwarts. 'Mrs. Weasley's been attacked!' 'Ginny's dad! I heard he's at St. Mungo's!' 'Stupid blood traitor. Probably cursed some Muggle thing and it backfired.' 'Harry Potter! That's right! He _saw_ it! Maybe he's a Seer?'

The rumours grew more and more outlandish as the day progressed, but there was definitely two things everyone agreed upon: Something – a not good something – had befallen one of the Weasley family members, and somehow, Harry Potter was involved.

Lyra attempted to be unaffected by what the school was saying. She had regained her lost composure from the night before, and she refused to lose it again – _especially_ over the same person. Instead, she threw herself into her final classes, particularly focusing on the final class of the day.

Defence Against the Dark Arts rolled around, and Lyra set up the usual scenario. Book open and wand out, she stared at the statue by the door that had not moved for weeks, and she was determined to get this spell correct. But with all the other thoughts of the past week floating up to cloud her mind, she found it difficult to concentrate. As the lesson came closer and closer to the end she found her ire rising. Why couldn't she focus? What was _wrong_ with her?

Through her growing fury she stabbed her wand in the direction of the lion statue, once, twice, three times. It took until about her forth infuriated attempt for her to realise that her first silently angered spell had, in actuality, worked.

The lion statue blinked to life, its head turning slightly to look at the person who had animated it. Lyra stared at it, mild disbelief crossing her face, and she couldn't help but smile. She flicked her wand once more, and without further a due, the now very lifelike lion statue leapt through the classroom door.

It took the class less than a heartbeat to react.

"Dark magic! Dark magic!" Lyra forced herself to scream at Umbridge, who looked beyond shocked. "Professor, quick, which page do we turn to?"

Umbridge stared at the lion statue in denial. Surely such a creature could not come into _her_ classroom unannounced. She seemed to come back to herself as she pulled her stumpy wand from her robes. The lion trained its eyes upon the short teacher, its eyes blazing dangerously. With a terrifying roar it jumped across several desks, which luckily the owners of had vacated the moment the creature made itself known. It beared down upon Umbridge, teeth gnashing furiously.

"_Unanimatio!"_ a girl cried – a Lisa, perhaps? – waving her wand at the beast as she read her textbook. Lyra's creation barely batted an eyelid at the spell, and after quelling any further attempts to stop it by growling at the girl, it returned to its pursuit of Umbridge.

By this stage, half the class had fled the classroom, perhaps in an attempt to find a teacher who could actually handle it as the short Professor waved her own wand at it and nothing happened. The other students appeared to be hanging back to see if the creature would really eat her.

The lion statue leapt from its place atop the desks, knocking Umbridge down. The short teacher whimpered in terror as the lion stalked closer and closer and she raised her wand in a last-ditch attempt to save herself. The motion was wasted, however, and the lion merely swatted the wand away. It clattered uselessly under Umbridge's desk. The lion-statue raised itself up, claws extended, and swung its huge paw down in a blow that –

"_Finite Incantatem!_"

The lion froze mid strike, a solid and immovable statue once again. Professor McGonagall strode into the room with a furious glare on her face, and with a flick of her wand the statue slid back, allowing the trapped Umbridge the chance to climb to her feet.

"What in Godric's name happened here?" the Transfiguration teacher demanded, her eyes darting between the remaining students and the indignant Professor clambering gracelessly to her feet.

"I'll tell you what happened!" Umbridge all but screeched. She pointed a stumpy, shaking finger directly at Lyra. "_She_ had that creature attack me!"

McGonagall looked horrified at the accusation. "Professor Umbridge, I do think you are suffering from shock. Did you actually witness Miss White casting the spell?"

Umbridge open and closed her mouth several times in quick succession, her furious evident in her speechlessness.

"I-I know she did it! It must have been her!"

McGonagall cast a quick glance in Lyra's direction, who stood with a moderately amused expression gracing her features. The Transfiguration Professor said nothing, however, and turned back to address the other students.

"Why did no one attempt to stop the beast?" she asked sternly. A Gryffindor stepped forward to answer her.

"W-we tried, Professor, but we've never cast these spells before. W-we were so scared, we didn't have time to think. We didn't have time to remember what the text said."

"Yeah, if we'd actually had the chance to practice 'em, we may have stopped it!" another Gryffindor chimed in.

"Enough!"

The momentarily bold Gryffindors stepped back next to their fellows as the DADA teacher bellowed at them.

"You dare question my methods of teaching? I'll have you know the Ministry app–"

"We would never dream of question _your_ methods, Professor," Lyra cut in, her tone amiable, yet weighted. "As you said, we quite _clearly_ aren't at risk here in the school. Accidents don't happen. We're all exactly as safe as we want to be. In fact, I don't even see why we need to pursue this as a subject, considering the valuable lesson we all learnt here today –"

"Why you...!" Umbridge's eyes narrowed to infuriated slits, but before she could act upon her rage, McGonagall took matters into her capable hands.

"Professor Umbridge, I see that we are in still in a bit of a shock. I think it best the students return to their dormitories, and perhaps you should see Madam Pompfrey."

Throughout the older witch's spiel, Umbridge did not take her eyes from Lyra, who reciprocated the gesture. The young Slytherin awaited for her fellow students to forward from the room around her before she dipped her head slightly, not in concession or defeat, but in mocking graciousness, and slowly followed after them.

As she left she couldn't keep the satisfied smirk from her lips. She knew there would be absolute Hell to pay for that, but as Umbridge couldn't _openly_ do anything to her, she thought it was more than worth it. No one stopped her on her way back to the Slytherin Common Rooms. They all knew she'd done it – it was obvious, no one else would have the stones to set an inanimate object on a teacher like that – but they would admire her work from a distance. She was still Lyra White, after all, irrespective of the 'justice' she may have just served.

When Lyra arrived in the Common Room, she slumped into one of the dark leather armchairs. Her lips twitched as she recalled the look upon Umbridge's face as the lion stepped closer and closer to her. But Lyra would have stepped in had McGonagall not arrived when she did. Maybe. Possibly.

Probably not.

At that moment, she was much too self-satisfied to be tip-toeing on moral high ground. Her non-verbal spell had worked splendidly, if she did say so herself. As she thought that, however, she realised that if Umbridge pushed the matter, Lyra may be forced to have her wand examined to see what the most recent spells it had cast.

Lyra pulled out her wand, and to ensure the last spell it had used was not anything that could be connected to animating a solid statue, she turned in her seat and hexed one of the tables in the room, smashing it to pieces. For good measure, she flicked her wand and it slowly but steadily repaired itself.

"Rough day?"

The mocking drawl was unmistakable, and Lyra cursed her luck in having run into the blonde. He stood flanked by his two dim-witted cronies by the entrance to the boy's dormitories, a smirk pulling up the edges of his lips. To Lyra's surprise, he turned to Crabbe and Goyle, dismissed them with a harsh wave of his hand, and swaggered over to her. Unsure what his motivation could possibly be, Lyra decided she may as well play along.

"Destroying evidence, actually," she responded casually as he took a seat opposite her. He peaked an eyebrow in mild curiosity at her words. Her smug smirk returned.

"Almost got a teacher placed permanently in St. Mungo's, this afternoon," she stated by way of elaboration.

Draco leant back into the sofa he occupied with a gleeful glint in his eye. "Truly?" He let out a sharp laugh. "That must have been priceless. Who was..." he trailed off, his features dipping into a slight frown before they turned into an outright scowl. He let out an exasperated sigh. "It was Umbridge, wasn't it?"

Lyra didn't even have the decency to look guilty. "Still on about that, are we?" Draco stood suddenly, his scowl deepening as he paced in front of her. "Not all of us have the charm you possess, Draco. You know I don't do well in the... 'arse-kissing'... side of things."

Draco sneered at the underhand comment, but otherwise made no motion that he had been upset by it. "I do what any _sensible_ Slytherin in my position would do, Lyra."

"Questioning my sanity, there, Draco?" Lyra shot back, though not venomously. She let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "You're not the first, and most definitely won't be the last."

At her last words, Draco stilled his furious steps and looked directly at Lyra. His expression suggested he took a great deal more than a mere surface understanding of her words. What conclusion he arrived at by reading between the lines he did not share, however, and simply sat back down in the chair opposite her. He crossed his hands in his lap, still looking at her, though struggling to find something to say. He cleared his throat.

"So, what are your plans for the Christmas Holidays?"

She didn't bother hiding her snicker at his pathetic attempt to change the subject. She decided she may as well play along. It wasn't often he was so cordial to her.

"I'll probably mope about the school Halls for the most part; perhaps scare some first years, maybe hex a Gryffindor if I get bored enough and if I find one gullible enough."

"You say that like it would be a difficult thing," Draco said with a laugh, and Lyra chuckled slightly as well. He stopped suddenly, looking over her shoulder with a frown. Suddenly his features shifted into a sneer and he jumped gracefully to his feet. He looked down at her, his pointed face haughty once more. "And let that be a lesson to you," he practically spat as though they had been having a completely different conversation.

Lyra glanced quickly over her shoulder to find a group of Slytherins, all in Draco's year, standing and waiting for him by the entrance to the Common room. She turned her gaze back to Draco, who swept around her brusquely, but Lyra knew better than to be offended. In fact, she smirked.

"Salazar forbid you have a conversation with an intellectual, Draco," she called over her shoulder to him.

Lyra could have sworn she heard him very unconvincingly cover his snicker with a cough.

Lyra awoke the only person in Slytherin House on Christmas day. Every other student in her House had returned home for the Holidays, but she was not surprised. It was almost the same every year, and she had grown immune to the twisting feeling of loneliness it brought on.

Honest, she had.

But as she walked down to the Common Room to find it entirely devoid of life, she decided she would take a walk. There were no gifts for her, as there wasn't any year. Dustin probably didn't even know what day it was, let alone that he was entitled to do anything about it. So for at least something to do, the young Slytherin wandered down the deserted halls, letting her feet take her wherever they wished while her mind focused on everything and nothing.

This year had been quite strange, and she knew it had absolutely everything to do with a certain scarred idiot. For he certainly _was_ an idiot, without a doubt, for actually befriending such an emotionally stunted girl as Lyra. But then, she wasn't stunted at all. She had just... learnt not to care. And then _he_ had to come along and colossally screw everything to kingdom come. He and his _stupid,_ friendly smiles and his _stupid,_ unjudging ways.

Fuming silently with her internal monologue, Lyra did not realise her feet had taken her to the top of the Astronomy Tower until she felt the bitter bite of the harsh, winter wind. She wrapped her cloak around her tighter, realising that she had not really dressed for such weather, but not really brining herself to care enough to return to the warmth of the school below. Instead she stared out at the dark grey sky above her as she leaned against the railing that stopped her plummeting to an early grave, her thoughts somewhat wistful. She was rudely pulled from such musings, however, at the sound of two very angry screeches reached her ears. She squinted into the sky, watching as two dark specs against the clouds became larger and larger, and with it came their loud and quite annoyed vocalisations.

The two owls – for undoubtedly that's what they were – appeared to be engaged in a heated argument as they circled closer and closer to Hogwarts. Lyra watched them in amusement, feeling slightly sorry for the person who had to receive mail from such clearly infuriated messengers. Her feelings very quickly dissipated, however, when she suddenly realised that she was the recipient.

The two owls – one snowy-white and the other a proud eagle-owl – alighted upon the railing, one on either side of her. They passed her at one another, and Lyra had not realised until that moment that owls could feel such animosity for one another. She shifted slightly, edging carefully over to the grand eagle-owl, who did not take its eyes from its white counterpart. With slow fingers Lyra untied the letter attached to its leg, and the moment it completed its task, the owl spread its huge wings and took flight. She turned then to the snow-white owl, whose eyes remained plastered to the retreating owl's back, and similarly removed the note it carried. It too took flight the moment it could.

Lyra watched them both for a moment, amused greatly by the antics she witnessed. She eventually gave up when they became mere specs on the horizon and instead turned to her mail. The first appeared to be quite formal, its neat, curly writing catching her eye. She tore it open, her eyes flicking quickly from left to right as she read through the note.

_Dear Lyra,_

_I send you well wishes of the Season, and hope that you are enjoying your stay at Hogwarts. _

_Merry Christmas and kind regards, _

_Draco._

The letter was short and concise, and Lyra was completely taken aback. _Kind regards, Draco_. She had been expecting nothing from her blonde housemate, and even though the note was impersonal at best, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction at reading his words. The conniving bastard would gain nothing from sending her a note on Christmas, and he surely knew her better than to hope she would feel any need for reciprocation in the future. It appeared he had simply thought of her.

Pushing thoughts of what that meant to the side momentarily, Lyra ripped into the second, much messier note, the scrawl in some places almost difficult to read.

_Lyra, _

_Sorry I didn't get to see you before I left. Something came up, and you know how it is. Just writing to say Merry Christmas and that I hope you have a good break. _

_From your friend, _

_Harry. _

_P.S. Don't forget to practice!_

As Lyra wandered back to her much warmer Common Room, Lyra arrived at two conclusions. One, that Harry was a fantastically kind and wonderful idiot, and since she knew she would regret it later, she let herself enjoy the feeling of someone actually caring.

And two...

She didn't half mind Christmas.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

_Telling the truth would be worse. Much worse. _

The rest of the short Christmas break was as uneventful as ever, and Lyra was admittedly glad when the rest of Hogwarts' students returned. She checked her coin regularly, hoping that she had just missed it heating up to inform her of the next DA meeting, but no such luck. She was almost to the point of going up to the youngest Weasley in her year and asking if she'd missed something, but had decided against it. She decided instead to return to her common room in the dungeons early that evening, but it seemed her queries were to be answered anyway.

The entrance to Snape's office sat in a hallway off to the left of the route to the common room, and as Lyra passed it, she felt a slight pushing near her temple. It took her a moment to realise that the feeling was not physical, but was in fact all in her head. Someone was trying to push their way into her head.

For a moment she began to panic, before she realised that the sensation was dulled, and it would be hard for someone not making eye contact with her to attempt Legilimency. She frowned, looking down the hall to Snape's door, and for good measure took several steps forward until she could no longer see it. The sensation stopped immediately. She took several steps backwards, and the sensation began again, and after a few more backwards it stopped.

Lyra was confused, to say the least. Someone – and by the looks of things, that someone was in Snape's office – was using Legilimency, powerful Legilimency. The kind that others could feel if they knew what it was, even if they weren't the target of it. But with that confusion came a damning sense of curiosity, and though the young Slytherin knew she should make haste and get the hell out of there, she couldn't bring herself to. Just as this thought struck her, however, the feeling of invasion in her mind ceased, and before she knew what to do, Snape's office door cracked open.

"And do not forget to practice, Mr. Potter. I shall know," came Snape's baritone voice, and to Lyra's surprise out stumbled a rather haggard-looking Harry, his eyes bleary and his steps shaky. He looked up, surprise on his own face when he realised who stood at the other end of the hallway.

"Oh, hey, Lyra."

He seemed relieved, almost, to see her, but then his features paled – more than they already were – and he scrambled with his next few words.

"I – uh – I was just having remedial potions with Snape," he said lamely, and had Lyra not already figured out what was going on, she would have found it very difficult to believe him. She waited for him to step towards her, away from Snape's office, to ensure her response did not carry to her Head of House's ears.

"You would make a terrible Slytherin, Harry," she informed him companionably as she fell into step next to him. "You are ever so transparent."

Harry stopped, surprise, suspicion, and fear crossing over his features at once. Lyra stopped as well, looking at him seriously, perhaps for the first time in her life.

"Don't fret, Harry. I won't tell anyone that our resident Potions Master was rifling through your head. Besides, who would I tell?"

She continued walking, and Harry was left with little choice but to trail next to her.

"How'd you... I mean..."

Lyra smiled. "Legilimency can be felt by other people in the vicinity, if they know what it feels like." Harry opened his mouth, probably to question how she knew what it felt like, but she didn't let him. "I take it Professor Snape was attempting to teach you Occlumency?"

Harry's eyes widened at her deduction, but instead of questioning her further, he merely shook his head but cringed slightly as the apparent pain in his head increased with the motion.

"You know far too much for your own good, Lyra White," he told her in disbelief.

She smiled, and nodded. "If only you knew, Harry," she said furtively. "But moving right along, are you any good at it? You don't have to tell me anything about it, if you don't want to," she added quickly. Harry being Harry, it was probably not something she was supposed to be privy to. He seemed to contemplate her for a moment, before he merely shrugged.

"I suck at it, actually, which Snape likes to constantly remind me. I can never clear my mind enough."

Lyra slowed her pace slightly at his words, thinking.

"Well that is rather difficult. Most people try and concentrate on one thing when they first begin Occlumency."

Harry looked at her in puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

By this point the pair had left the dungeons and now stood in one of Hogwats' many courtyards. Lyra stepped over to a wooden seat by the entrance to the rest of the castle, and Harry followed suit.

"Well, the whole purpose of Legilimency to gain access to someone's mind, yes?" Harry nodded. "However if there's nothing there, if you mind is blank and empty, it is impossible for the Legilimens to find a way in. Every one of your thoughts is connected, so the minute they find one they can leap from that thought to another. That's why you're told to empty your mind." Again, Harry nodded. "A skilled Occlumens can dictate where the intruder is lead, allowing them to see only what the mind wishes. It's like they conjure a fake mind around their real mind to protect it. You, obviously, are not quite up to that." Harry snorted in agreement. "But in my experience, it's much easier not to empty your mind. Instead, you focus intently on one thing."

"What do you mean? Didn't you say that all thoughts are connected?"

"Indeed, but I wasn't quite finished with my expositional onslaught. You have to focus entirely on something, and it's best that it is a material something. Even better if you can see it. Emotions or concepts are difficult to focus on, as other things like what brought the emotion on might slip into your thoughts and then you're back at square one. If all you are thinking about is that one material item, then that's all the Legilimens will see."

"Well what kind of 'material thing' would you suggest I think about?" Harry asked, still a little sceptical about everything she'd told him. Lyra sensed his apprehension, and after a moment of thought she pulled out her wand.

"I think you may benefit more if I showed you."

Harry eyed her wand wearily, but after some prompting he pulled out his own.

"You know the spell?" He nodded. "Well, then." She smirked. "Give me your best shot."

Harry blinked at her, and when it became apparent that she was not about to tell him otherwise, he tightened his grip around his wand and stared her directly in the eye.

"_Legilimency!_" he cried, and he immediately suffered the sensation of being sucked into something. But instead of being assaulted by images and memories, the only thing Harry could see was... leaves. He was surrounded by them, and no matter how hard he tried to push through it, the wall of green would not relent. His mind began to strain, and very suddenly he returned to himself, panting heavily.

"Whoa." His hand shot to his head. "That was a lot of leaves."

Lyra was equally tired from the mental attack, though she attempted not to show it. She had basic skills in Occlumency, nothing further. It had been a risk, inviting Harry into her mind the way she did. But for whatever reason she wanted to help him with this, perhaps to repay the debt of allowing her into the DA. It was stupid and reckless, and if he had been marginally stronger at the spell, things would not have gone down well.

Lyra shook herself mentally, refocusing on the situation at hand.

"Indeed. First thing I saw. It helps if the material item you think about has no connection to you, simply for the same reason that you should avoid using emotions."

Harry expelled a long breath, leaning back into the wooden seat they occupied and closing his eyes slightly. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"I told you, Harry. I know many things I shouldn't."

He opened an eye at that, and the look he sent Lyra clearly said he was being serious. She sighed, leaning back next to him, though still comfortably apart.

"My godfather is, for want of a better word, a paranoid schizophrenic. At least, I believe he is. He insisted I learn to 'guard my mind' et cetera et cetera."

Harry seemed to take this as an acceptable answer for he closed his eye again and relaxed back into the seat further.

"Mmm... I should be doing work..." he mused absently.

"I don't doubt you should be," Lyra agreed, her tone equally vacant.

Harry's lips quirked up slightly. "I suppose you've –"

"Potter!"

Lyra groaned slightly as the familiar voice reached her ears and she felt Harry jump to his feet next to her. She, on the other hand, took her time opening her eyes and straightening.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry said coldly. Draco sneered his patented Malfoy sneer as he drew nearer, lackey-less for a change.

"Lost, are we Pot-Head?" Draco drawled, motioning slightly with his head in Lyra's direction. Harry glanced in her direction, following Draco's meaning.

"Lyra's my friend, Malfoy, so back off," Harry threatened. Draco stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, before he burst out laughing.

"F-friend?" he managed to gasp between hysterical guffaws. "That's a good one!"

Lyra knew the conversation was taking a dangerous turn, so quickly she stood and situated herself between the two boys.

"Draco, I think perhaps you've overstayed your welcome," she muttered so that only he could hear, her tone dark. But the blonde Slytherin was not finished.

"Oh, if only you knew, Potter," he said loudly, ensuring the Gryffindor could hear him. "I bet you think you've found yourself a noble little Slytherin, a _good _Slytherin, but I tell you, she's the worst of us!"

Lyra's eyes flashed dangerously at the blonde, and his laughter ceased momentarily. His expression remained defiant, however, and he refused to be put out by her glare.

"C'mon, Lyra, let's get the hell out of here," Harry suggested in a low voice, one hand moving to Lyra's elbow in an attempt to pull her out of her glaring contest with her housemate.

"No no, how about _you_ run along, Potter. I have a feeling _Lyra _wants a word with me," Draco said mockingly.

Harry frowned. "Lyra?"

Lyra tore her gaze from Draco's and turned around to look at Harry, softening her eyes slightly.

"I'll see you later, okay?" she asked by way of dismissal. Harry took the hint, and with a final nod in her direction and a pissed-off glare in Draco's, he turned and walked back into the castle.

Lyra immediately spun around to confront Draco, who had dropped the arrogant facade and now looked at her reproachfully.

"What the hell was that, Lyra?" he demanded, his voice low.

Lyra scoffed. "Mmm, ask that question again, except this time, I'm _you_," she shot back.

"_I'm_ not the one fraternising with Harry-Fucking-Potter, self-righteousness incarnate!"

Lyra crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head in slight disbelief at the fact that she was having this conversation with _Draco Malfoy._

He eyed her carefully before continuing. "You think he's your friend now, but the minute, no, _second_, he finds out the truth –"

"_I know!_" Lyra shouted, cutting him off. "I know, Draco!"

He seemed taken aback by her admission, but his surprise only held him back for a moment. "Then why are you setting yourself up for this? He's going to find out – they're _all_ going to – and if you're, what is it, _friends _with him, then it's only going to make things worse. He's one of _them,_ Lyra."

"I know." The anger had fled from Lyra's voice, leaving her sounding nothing but tired.

"Then why are you doing this?" Draco demanded again, sparking her indignation.

"Why do you _care_?" Lyra challenged, angry once more.

"I don't care! I just want to know!"

"Well did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want this? That maybe I _like_ having someone care about me, even if it's just for a little while? That maybe I don't want to end up like _you_?"

Her final comment stung him hard, she could tell, and perhaps later on she would find herself regretting it. Draco's eyes flashed, and when he next spoke, his tone was deadly even.

"You think you can run from this, but you can't. It's stupid and naive to even try. You're stuck with it, whether you want it or not."

With that, he spun his toes and began to stride away. Two steps later, Lyra felt that pesky pang of guilt.

"Draco," she attempted to call out to him.

He heard her, but didn't turn back around. Instead, he flipped her off over his shoulder and quickened his stride. With a muted sigh, Lyra watched him brusquely leave, placing no blame with him on the way their conversation had escalated. Everything he had said was true, no matter how hard she had been trying to deny it for the past few months.

Lyra turned in the other direction, wondering what she was going to do in that instant now that she obviously couldn't return to the common room. So occupied was she by her thoughts that she failed to notice the figure standing by the door as she stepped back into the castle. Without a second glance she strode past them, determined to find somewhere nice and quiet and alone.

The figure watched her leave with wide, shocked green eyes. From his vantage point, he had heard the entire altercation, even if he had been unable to witness it.

Harry Potter shook his head, sure that he must have misinterpreted the conversation. But no matter which way he looked at it, Lyra was hiding something from him. And whatever that something was, it wasn't something that would expand her social horizons.

If Lyra had thought her week couldn't get any worse, she would have been far mistaken. Luckily, Lyra held no such notions that she had hit rock bottom, so when she snatched the Daily Prophet from the hands of an unsuspecting third year at breakfast, the headlines merely served to increase her sense of resentment toward the world, rather than plunge her into despair. Somewhat.

It took a lot of self-control on Lyra's part not to smash the nearest piece of crockery with her bare hands as she read the day's headlines. Prisoners had escaped Azkaban, it stated. Lyra almost couldn't bring herself to look at the profiles of those who had broken out. Lyra's throat clenched. There she was. With eyes half-lidded and wholly crazed, Bellatrix LeStrange was a hard woman to misidentify.

The third year Lyra had nicked the paper from pulled it from her grasp, but Lyra barely noticed. She was staring blankly at her empty plate, her appetite having very suddenly disappeared. However sudden movement in her peripheral vision caused her to look up, just in time to snatch the letter Atra, her godfather's owl, dropped by her head. Lyra swallowed hard. She knew what the letter was going to say, but even still her hands shook ever so slightly as she unfurled the note. Dustin's usually presentable writing was hurried and messy, and the message was brief.

_Lyra,_

_If you have read the papers, then you know why I am writing to you. She has escaped. I can no longer remain in Britain, and shall be taking the first portkey out of the country. I regret that I cannot take you with me, but perhaps that is for the best. I do not know when I shall return, if ever. It is not safe for me. I have owled Dumbledore, and he should help make arrangements for your care. _

_I truly am sorry, Lyra. _

_Sincerely, _

_Dustin. _

Lyra sat completely frozen, the letter shaking in her hands. Her eyes stared blankly at the page, rereading the third-last line of the letter – _I truly am sorry, Lyra._

That fucking two-faced son-of-a-bitch.

Something inside Lyra snapped at that moment and she flung herself to her feet, irrespective of anyone else who may have been in the way. With blind eyes and deaf ears she stormed from the Great Hall. She didn't know where she was going, she only knew she had to get out of there. Her feet carried her to her favourite classroom, and with a silent spell she closed and locked the door behind her. She barely made it to the front of the classroom before she collapsed to her knees and began to sob.

At first she was silent, allowing the tears to pour down her face. But then she began to become angrier and angrier, and before she knew it she was overturning desks and smashing windows with a flurry of hexes. She yelled, as well, and had a passerby happened upon the classroom, they probably would have thought Peeves or the Bloody Baron had taken up refuge inside.

Eventually Lyra wore herself out and she crumbled to the ground, once again returning to her silent sobbing. She didn't know how long she had been in there before someone finally came to disturb her.

"Miss White..."

Lyra whipped around, her sleeve already attempting to wipe futilely at the tear tracks along her cheeks. Standing in the doorway of the classroom was none other than Severus Snape, his eyes dark and his expression the most concerned she had ever seen him. His gaze flicked quickly around the classroom, assessing the destruction, but he made no comment on it. Instead he turned his eyes back to the girl on the floor.

"Professor Dumbledore would like to speak with you."

Lyra knew this had been coming, so without protest she collected herself and stood, dusting off her robes as she approached the door. Snape flicked his wand several times, and all around her the classroom began to righten itself. He would not meet her stare directly, but her Head of House placed a strangely comforting hand on her upper arms as he led her away from the classroom and towards the Headmaster's office.

Harry watched the scene unfold of a quite concerned Potions Master leading away a distraught looking Lyra. Had he not know otherwise, he may have thought she was being lead to her own execution. Across the hall from him, his worried green eyes locked onto a pair of cold, silver ones. Malfoy said nothing to him, however. It seemed they had come to a silent agreement without even realising it.

Both boys turned back to the retreating pair of Snape and Lyra, and Harry couldn't help wondering what exactly the other boy knew.


End file.
